First Lieutenant Subandi acknowledged the signal then advanced cautiously towards the clearing where a group of twenty or more Papuan tribesmen had gathered. There were eight in Subandi’s Red Beret team – all highly trained commandos belonging to the one thousand strong, Kopassus Strategic Forces spread throughout Indonesia’s most easterly province, to counteract the Free West Papua (OPM) separatist movement.
Growing dissent amongst the Indonesian Papuans had resulted in an increase in protests and hostage taking, the Kopassus command charged with the task of eliminating those responsible and, in so doing, remove all threats to the massive gold and copper deposits located there. Lieutenant Subandi was not aware that, since the mining operation’s inception, his Commander-in-Chief’s closest associates had been granted twenty percent of the stock in the billion-dollar, mining investment. And, because of these vested interests, the company had enjoyed a special place under the Suharto dictatorship. With the Indonesia’s First Family and their associates firmly ensconced as major beneficiaries of the mine, the company not only enjoyed generous tax concessions and virtually free reign within the province, but protection by the full might of the Indonesian Armed Forces.
The young officer, as were so many of his peers, remained apolitical, interested only in advancing his career, one that had recently suffered a number of serious setbacks – the most significant, the loss of an Iroquois helicopter whilst he was co-pilot. Grounded for a year and reassigned, Subandi now found himself participating in covert operations, in the primitive province.
He had arrived as a major Kostrad, Strategic Reserves’ operation was under way. Their task, to forcibly relocate several thousand villagers from their traditional land to make way for the mining giant’s expanding infrastructure requirements and, of course, a new military base from where the army’s special units could operate. A concentration camp had been established to contain the growing unrest, Lieutenant Subandi’s current mission to recapture escapees who had managed to cut their way through razor-wire fencing and flee, attacking a transmigrant settlement along the way. The response to the attack on the Javanese settlers had been immediate, with a number of Black Ops being initiated that very day. The young officer knew that select Kopassus teams would already be on their way to ‘visit’ indigenes in their villages, where they would terrorize the local population, killing, torturing, burning in reprisal. Subandi had been trained in such tactics back in Java, but that was before his selection for helicopter pilot training. The intimidation tactics were always successful, he knew, having participated in a number of such raids in East Timor where he had been fortunate to meet the young, Kopassus commander, General Praboyo.
The junior officer peered through the bushes as the group congregated in the open, half-expecting to see men with noses pierced with bone. Instead, he was surprised to discover that they carried carbines, and wore their own style of camouflage uniform. Subandi assumed, correctly, that he had stumbled across the OPM. The commandos positioned themselves to advantage then engaged the raggedy band, the ensuing slaughter accounting for most of their number, with only a few managing to escape into the woods. Lieutenant Subandi’s successful mission earned the officer accolades and the attention of his superiors in Jakarta. He was reassigned yet again, this time to the anti-terror unit, D81 located in Cijantung, on the outskirts of the national capital.
Subandi would remain engaged in covert operations specifically targeting high-profile political agitators for the next few years, until a chance development would place him back on flying duty, and at the controls of a helicopter again.
****
The Airbus’ engines’ whine diminished considerably, causing heart palpitations throughout the wide-bodied jet. Then, as the captain banked and corrected the aircraft’s course for Hong Kong, to the relief of all on board, the powerful Pratt & Whitney PW4000 engines leaped back into life as the seat-belt signs were turned off, and the cabin crew rose to commence the in-flight service. Kremenchug closed the shades and adjusted his seat, then busied himself with his own business plan during the relatively short flight to Hong Kong’s Kai Tak Airport. His concerns over the Philippines’ government’s propensity to eavesdrop on international calls had discouraged Kremenchug from placing calls to Canada and Indonesia whilst in Manila, as he did not want anyone from General Dominguez’s camp even minutely aware of what he intended.
He accepted a glass of champagne from the flight attendant and sipped, quietly revisiting his brief sojourn to the Philippines, and the gratifying, and embarrassing, interlude. A look of disgust collapsed his face when he recalled the revelations, made during that morning’s breakfast.
‘You should have remained longer,’ he had whispered to Sharon across the table so the maid could not hear.
He’d frowned when Sharon held a napkin to her face to hide her laughter. ‘You didn’t know it wasn’t me?’
Kremenchug remembered leaning over the table. ‘Excuse me?’ He had then followed Sharon’s eyes across the room to where Maria stood, hands clasped across the front of her apron, smiling appreciatively, in his direction. He looked back at his hostess, then over at the maid again, the realization of what had really transpired stultifying.
‘I’m sorry, Alex, but I just couldn’t resist!’
He felt foolish, and with a casual wave of the hand, as if dispensing with the matter, said, ‘Well, for what it’s worth, the experience wasn’t all that bad.’
Sharon had reached across and patted his hand as a parent would some errant child. ‘Just remember for the future, then. I don’t mix business and pleasure.’
It had taken him the rest of the meal to recover from his embarrassment, Sharon assisting by moving their conversation forward with more important matters, reviewing his brief and their financial arrangements.
She had established a formula with respect to what stockholding the Filipino side required in a revitalized Borneo Gold Corporation, based on the premise that shares in BGC would undoubtedly rise commensurate with the value of the gold deposit’s proven reserves. The question of how Sharon Ducay would deliver the necessary drilling results to justify BGC’s acquisition of the Kalimantan property remained foremost in his mind. When Kremenchug had raised this most important issue, Sharon had assured him that she was confident that future assay reports would support their valuation, but refused to reveal just how she intended achieving this aim.
Sharon had, however, raised the issue that her name carried no international recognition. There would have to be others clearly associated with the mining operation, those whose reputations would, by name, substantiate her findings out in the field. For this, they would need to bring Christopher Fielding into their fold. Kremenchug was cognizant of the BGC President’s financial woes and, in consequence, did not anticipate too much resistance from that quarter. Fielding’s own stock position had already been watered down as a result of his marital indiscretions – Kremenchug believed that Christopher Fielding would remain on as the CEO due to his financial predicament, prepared to offer the president an attractive package and options.
Unwittingly, Fielding would become the Ducay-Kremenchug front man.
Borneo Gold Corporation would have to be re structured and shareholder approval sought to accommodate the Filipino’s position. Then there was the problem of removing Scott Walters from the Board and, hopefully, completely from the scene. Kremenchug had suggested that Sharon buy Walters’ stock and she had agreed to consider this path, once he had raised the question with the financier. In the event that control over BGC became too difficult to achieve, only then would Kremenchug consider other options.
The two hundred million in gold bars would be laundered through the BGC, Kalimantan mine. The restructured company would acquire the proven prospect under an options agreement, in consideration for which, the Filipinos would receive a negotiated value in share scrip, to be issued at the stock’s face value, and options. As the stock was expected to at least double, the real value lay in the options. Kremenchug had negotiated a twenty percent position with Sharon, this giving him one fifth of everything the Filipinos received as a result of the deal. He anticipated that Canadian authorities would require their stock to be held in escrow for at least a year, at which time Sharon would gather her own team and commence the ‘mining’ operations to recycle the existing gold.
Sharon had agreed to fund the operation up to the point when BGC acquired the gold mining property. This would require that she provide capital to cover the costs of establishing a corporate entity to acquire the prospect from the Indonesian government. Sharon would then have to finance the drilling program, and any other expenses incurred in bringing the concession up the point where they could justify the BGC stock allocation.
From Kremenchug’s perspective, he had nothing to lose. The concession would be backed by the Filipino gold, his original shares would rise, and to top it all off, he would enjoy a position on the company’s Board. All in all, he thought to himself, accepting a flute the stewardess had filled with Beaumont des Crayeres, he had done very well for himself.
****
‘Eric, it’s Alex.’ Kremenchug had waited to make this call from the first class lounge where some semblance of privacy could be achieved.
‘Hi, Alex,’ the slurred speech told Kremenchug that he should have gone to Jakarta and spoken to Baird, in person. It had been some time since they had last discussed anything in person. ‘Long time, no hear!’
‘Eric, I need information on what areas are still available in East Kalimantan.’ Kremenchug waited, when there was no response, he tried again. ‘Eric, this is very important! I want you to get down to Mines first thing and establish what prospects are still open for direct, foreign investment.’
Baird grumbled unintelligibly, testing his associate’s patience.
Kremenchug tried again. ‘Eric, can you get me that information tomorrow?’
‘I …just told ya,’ Baird repeated, ‘there’s nothing left.’
‘Nothing at all?’ Kremenchug challenged, disbelievingly.
‘That’s …right,’ the other man’s sluggish voice replied.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yep,’ Baird affirmed, ‘…all gone.’
‘Eric, listen!’ Kremenchug was of two minds whether he should delay his visit to Canada, and get down to Indonesia to ensure that everything was in place there, before banging tables in Vancouver. ‘What was that place that was passed back in by the locals, Long-something-or-other?’
‘Longdamai,’ the response came back, ‘longtime, Longfellow... Is that what you’re referring to, Alex?’
Kremenchug swore. ‘Eric, stop screwing around – this is bloody important!’
A moment passed before Baird’s impaired brain clicked into gear, the wheels grinding ever so very slowly, as he gathered his thoughts.
‘Alex,’ he wheezed, the freshly lit cigarette burning his lungs.
‘Alex, is that you – shit, man, where the fuck have you been?’ This was followed by the sound of a racking series of coughs that belonged to a ward in some hospice. Kremenchug shook his head; there was so much riding on Eric Baird.
‘Eric,’ he tried again, ‘I’m at Kai Tak and need to know if you are up to talking sensibly?’
Baird listened, his face smothered with a drunken frown. He thought Kremenchug said something about being under attack, but knew that probably wasn’t right. He looked down the length of his naked body forcing his eyes to focus.
‘Where…where…are you?’ he moaned, dragging his limbs into a half-sitting position. One hand moved out clumsily brushing an ashtray aside, knocking the bedside light to the floor. ‘Shit’ was the next word Kremenchug heard, followed by a string of expletives which would have cost him the connection, had an international operator been monitoring the call.
‘Eric, I’m in Hong Kong.’ Kremenchug waited, and was about to hang up and go to change his tickets when Baird’s voice returned.
‘Alex,’ the geologist apologized, to the voice from out of the blue, ‘sorry. You… woke… me. I’d bombed myself out.’ Another pause, interposed with another coughing attack and then, ‘What’s happening?’
Kremenchug could hear Baird sucking deeply on a cigarette. He spoke slowly, still undecided as to whether he should just drop the receiver and catch the first flight down to meet the man, face to face, or persevere.
‘The Longdamai prospect; Eric, I want to know about the Longdamai site.’
‘Why?’ this was followed by another bout of heavy breathing as the marijuana’s effect topped up existing levels in Baird’s bloodstream. Mixed with his daily dosage of rum, the cocktail’s effect was inevitable.
‘If it’s available, I’m going to take it up,’ Kremenchug announced. ‘It’s serious, Eric. I’ve a done deal with a party that’s desperate to get into East Kalimantan.’ This was greeted with an empty response.
‘Eric?’ Kremenchug asked, his voice losing its usual confidence.
‘Yep, none other,’ Baird slowly responded, his slurred speech disguised by the poor connection.
‘Eric?’ Kremenchug tried again, ‘it’s Alex.’
A few seconds passed before the Jakarta party responded. ‘Hi, Alex,’ Baird said, and started giggling.
‘Shit, Eric!’ Kremenchug wishing he could reach down through the line across the South China Sea and strangle the little, ginger-haired bastard. ‘Listen to me!’
‘I liselling,’ Baird replied, his exceptionally poor imitation of how a Chinese migrant might speak, appalling at the best of times. Kremenchug knew that his chief geologist was not only drunk to his boots, but most probably high on grass as well.
‘Eric,’ he pleaded, ‘get a hold of yourself. We have to talk!’
‘Okay, Mastah, you talkie, I glisten,’ Baird started coughing as the clove cigarette bit deeply into his lungs. ‘Oh, shit!’ was all Kremenchug heard at the Hong Kong end. He knew Baird drank far too much and virtually lived with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. That the man had survived this long, with his limited diet and habits, continued to amaze all who were familiar with the geologist.
‘Eric, are you okay?’ Kremenchug started to chew on the inside of his cheek. Another minute dragged by before Baird answered, his brain partially recovering from its confused trough as the ganja’s tricky effects produced momentary clarity.
‘I’m okay. Damn near coughed up my heart. Fucking cigarettes!’
‘Eric, listen,’ Kremenchug coaxed, ‘I’m going to phone you back again, first thing in the morning. Okay?’ This was followed by a frustrating silence. Kremenchug waited for what felt like an eternity, and tried again. ‘Eric? Are you still there?’
Another coughing fit proved this to be true. The phone crackled, a more subdued Baird back on the phone. ‘Sorry, had to throw up,’ he apologized. Kremenchug pulled the receiver away from his mouth in disgust.
‘Eric, are you able to talk now or not?’ he tried again. He had experienced such fractured communications with Baird before when, for some minutes, the man could be completely coherent and then suddenly flip back into his alcoholic or drug-related state. This time, against a background of distortion, he could hear Baird’s receiver being dropped. ‘Eric?’ Then the line went dead.
It was half an hour before the anorexic geologist answered the phone again, with Kremenchug anxiously counting the clock.
‘How do you feel?’ Kremenchug inquired, concerned.
‘Alex?’ Baird asked, waves of nausea threatening to drive him back to the bathroom. ‘Sorry. Think I had a bad prawn.’ Kremenchug knew that this was unlikely to be true. Baird rarely ate anything that did not come in a can, his many phobias preventing the rather brilliant geologist from behaving in any normal fashion.
‘Do you want me to phone you back tomorrow when I get into Vancouver?’ Kremenchug offered.
A slight pause, and then, ‘No, let’s talk now.’
‘Are you sure?’ Kremenchug needed to have his associate comprehend what was to be said. ‘This is really important, Eric.’
‘It’s okay. I’m okay.’ A brief pause filled the airwaves before Baird’s voice could be heard again. Staring down at smoldering ash on his lap he brushed at the danger with one hand, only to fan the spark. He then leaned forward and spat, the saliva killing the glow. ‘What do you want, Alex?’ he asked, his brain-impeded state diminishing his capacity to concentrate. He had started drinking himself impotent much earlier than usual, his binge the result of disastrous news relating to his stock portfolio. Financially, he had never been worse off than now, and had been counting heavily on the Canadian shares to retire some of his debt.
‘Are you sure you’re okay to talk?’
‘What’s happening to our stock?’ Baird asked, hopeful that the woeful tidings Reuters had carried the day before on the stock market’s closing prices were, in fact, the result of some dreadful, typographical error.
‘Not good,’ Kremenchug hedged, ‘our holdings are worth about forty thousand based on today’s close.’
‘Forty thousand?’ Baird was mortified. When the shares had been first posted to escrow, their stock in the company was valued at half a million dollars. ‘Bloody hell,’ his voice became harsh, and nasal. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Eric, listen,’ Kremenchug pleaded. ‘Forget Fielding and those shares for a moment, I’ve got something else I need to discuss with...’
‘Jesus, Alex!’ he cut the other man off, ‘You want me… to forget that I’ve lost a quarter of a million fucking dollars… just like that?’
‘Eric, that’s not what I meant,’ Kremenchug knew this was not going to be easy. ‘Of course I’m just as pissed as you about the share price but there’s nothing we can do right now.’ Kremenchug paused, waiting for some indication from Baird that he was still listening. And then, impatiently, ‘Eric?’
‘Yeah,’ his voice was filled with disappointment. ‘Is it worth holding onto the scrip?’ he asked, referring to their stock in the Canadian gold miner.
‘I’d hang in there, Eric,’ Kremenchug advised, ‘they can’t fall much lower. Anyway, I want to talk to you about another group that is keen for some property around the Mahakam. They’ve seen some of the geophysical data and are very impressed.’
‘And so…?’ Baird’s mind was still locked into calculating his losses.
‘They have plenty of capital to commit to surveys and drilling.’
Baird had been listening. He frowned. ‘There’s nothing left over there. It’s all been allocated.’
‘What about that Longdamai operation that folded?’
‘Longdamai?’ Baird wondered how Kremenchug was so knowledgeable about the area.
‘I heard that the locals have passed it back in to avoid paying the taxes.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Baird had a sinking feeling in his stomach. ‘From what I hear, they didn’t find anything worthwhile.’
‘Sure, Eric, but they wouldn’t have had access to someone with your skills,’ Kremenchug decided to change tack, appealing to the geologist’s latent ego.
‘It would be a waste of time,’ Baird persisted.
‘Well, check it out anyway. I’ll phone you again from Vancouver, okay?’
‘You don’t want me to go back out into that shit-hole again?’ Baird contemplated the prospect of returning to the site, a cold chill touching his spine as his mind was filled with vivid recollections of his disastrous visit.
‘Longdamai?’ it was Kremenchug’s turn to be confused.
‘Anywhere along the Mahakam,’ Baird declared. ‘Listen, Alex, get your clients to have a look at Northern Sulawesi around the Gorontalo area, or even in Sumatra. There’s still plenty of action left in those areas.’
‘No good,’ Kremenchug insisted, ‘the client will only consider East Kalimantan.’
‘Why?’
Kremenchug hesitated. Baird may have been boozed to the gills most of the time, but it would be a mistake to underestimate the man’s intelligence. He was not ready to reveal that this prospect would, ultimately, become part of the BGC operations.
‘I already explained that, Eric. East Kalimantan has a strong appeal to the investors. They are reasonably plugged in when it comes to mining, especially in Indonesia. They’ve considered the other areas. Besides, any action close to BGC’s leases might drive some life back into our stock. Listen,’ a thought came to Kremenchug as he talked, ‘if you don’t want to go with Longdamai, then why don’t you get down to Mines and establish what properties are coming up for relinquishment in that general area?’
Baird succumbed to another coughing fit, the racking noise followed by his delayed response. ‘Okay… leave it with me… I’ll get back to you. Where… will you be?’
‘I’ll contact you from Vancouver. I just wanted to make sure that you will be on deck when I ring.’
Baird detected contempt in the other man’s tone. He filled his nicotine-lacquered lungs with a deep breath and said, ‘I’ll be all right… by then.’
‘Okay, that’s it, for now,’ Kremenchug hung up and glanced up at the bank of wall clocks indicating international time zones. There would be no final boarding announcement for lounge passengers and he knew he was cutting it fine.
****
Baird dropped the receiver into its cradle, thinking about the call from out of the blue, and how Kremenchug had abandoned their relationship when things had gone sour with the Canadian company. At the time, Baird had been bewildered by Kremenchug’s decision to vendor in the prospect in question, knowing that any drilling commissioned to substantiate his earlier findings would only demonstrate that the deposit was not viable. Baird had received nothing for his efforts other than the few thousands he’d managed to build into the drilling survey. Kremenchug had justified his actions, explaining that he had hoped to offload their stock in BGC as the drilling proceeded.
Kremenchug ’s plan had backfired, leaving Baird with his reputation even further tarnished, and an extremely belligerent Canadian financier by the name of Scott Walters. Baird had picked some work over the next months, but the income generated from these was nowhere near enough to cover an expatriate’s overheads, living in Jakarta. Kremenchug had invited him to join in the ill-fated Meekathara project in Western Australia. Baird shuddered; faced with the prospect of leaving Mardidi behind he forwent the so-called opportunity, relieved now that he had not become embroiled in yet another of Kremenchug’s ambitious projects. He drifted back into a shallow sleep undertaking never to get too dependent on his former associate, ever again.
****
Campbell had not expected the Papuan separatist leader to drop the documents on him in such a manner.
‘It is not really appropriate, Tommy.’ At first, Stewart had resisted,
finally accepting the thick folder once his visitor had made it clear
what it contained.
‘Why not go public with it yourself?’ he had asked.
‘If I give it to those people,’ he nodded his head in the direction of staff waiting anxiously in the outer office, ‘nothing would happen.’
Campbell felt saddened by the look of desperation on the Papuan’s face. He knew, that by becoming involved, he would once again jeopardize his position in this country.
‘Is this about Freeport?’ he suspected it was; Freeport was an easy target, not because of its size, but because of its cavalier attitude towards environmental issues. It was public knowledge that Suharto’s closest associates already controlled a major shareholding in what had become the world’s richest copper and gold mine. Campbell looked up at Tommy Eluay, his heart going out to the man who had strived to find a forum, any forum to be heard. His country, West Papua had been delivered to the Javanese, by the United States, through the UN, because of political expedience, fulfilling a 1962 agreement initiated by the United States to avert war between the Netherlands and Indonesia. The 1969 process of self-determination, executed under United Nation’s auspices, provided that only a thousand West Papuans, all selected by Jakarta, were to vote on behalf of the entire, one-million population. Now, more than two decades later, the Papuans remained disenfranchised, and impoverished but, worse still, their lands were now under threat from the deadly tailings and spills associated with negligent mining practices.
‘Yes. This report reveals the extent of the damage already evident and extracts of an environmental impact study conducted by the Indonesian Ministry.When you compare their initial projections with what is now reality, it becomes obvious that whoever submitted that report was either incompetent, or biased.’
‘Who compiled the report?’
‘Mainly church leaders,’ Eluay’s eyes dropped. ‘We don’t have so many educated Papuans, Mister Stewart. We have friends amongst the church who understand these things, including the Bishop of Jayapura.’
‘Okay,Tommy,’ Campbell rose and took Eluay’s hand in clasped
gesture, ‘I’ll accept it on the condition that you don’t reveal that you have given this to me.’
‘Then you’ll read it?’ Tommy Eluay appealed, ‘If foreigners sympathetic to our problems can help us take a stand, Mister Stewart, then we will have a fighting chance.’
Campbell was not entirely happy with the Papuan’s choice of words. Since the so-called 1969 Act of Free choice which gave Indonesia control over the vast, four hundred thousand square kilometer, former Dutch colony, the Free Papua Movement (OPM) had grown in strength and, although most of the freedom fighters were mainly armed with primitive weapons, their resistance was fierce and bloody. As international attention was drawn to their plight, Jakarta initiated even more stringent censorship over the distant province, preventing the foreign press from presenting an accurate view of what really was happening there.
‘Yes, Tommy,’ he promised, ‘I’ll read it. But, I won’t undertake to circulate it. Okay?’
Tommy Eluay beamed. ‘That’s we want, Mister Stewart, thank you.’
Stewart Campbell escorted his Papuan guest out through reception, and bade his farewell. As Eluay’s back disappeared into the lift, the thought crossed his mind that the authorities would be aware of Tommy’s presence in Jakarta, and that his activities would certainly be closely monitored by the military intelligence agencies. Stewart looked up and down the crowded corridor suddenly concerned, realizing that any such surveillance would undoubtedly report the Papuan’s visit to his offices.
****
Stewart Campbell read the report, again, then locked the document in his desk drawer, speculating that Tommy Eluay would have circulated other copies, with the intention that these be leaked to the press. Campbell was certain that the damaging submission would attract international outrage, if the information could be substantiated.
He examined the black and white photographs and their captions claiming that the dead landscape was of an area more than fifty kilometers downstream from where mine tailings were dumped, into the Ajikwa River. The devastation was complete; Stewart having great difficulty believing that this barren, ghost-like landscape was once pristine rainforest. The report went on to describe the build-up of tailings and how, daily, a hundred thousand tonnes were dumped into Papuan rivers. Stewart was shocked to read that the mine’s operators projected destruction of more than one hundred square kilometers of rainforest before the end of this millennium.
Stewart knew that the Papuans were not alone in their call for an end to mining companies’ indiscriminate dumping of poisons. Yes, it was true that the Ajikwa River habitat was the most recent of ecological disasters to be caused by the Mines Department’s failure to enforce established guidelines, but he also knew that this would not be the last. Stewart’s thoughts shifted from West New Guinea to Borneo, and the island’s pristine rainforests he had visited along the southern Kalimantan rivers. In his mind, he applied the projections used by Freeport in their Papuan operations against the number of mining operators moving into Kalimantan, and was devastated to discover the extent of ecological damage that might occur, as a result of gold mining activities there. This thought triggered another, and he was bemused by the fact that he suddenly found himself thinking of the fiery Dayak student he had met in Bandung, wondering what she would say, given the opportunity to read this report.
His eyes scrolled down to where he had underscored a paragraph claiming that the prominent OPM leader, Kelly Kwalik, and three of his followers had disappeared off the face of the earth following their arrest by the Indonesian military. Reference was made to the Australian Council for Overseas Aid which reported that the four men had been tortured, and imprisoned, in a window-less Freeport container for more than a month. Disturbed by the documents’ contents and the knowledge that the Indonesian government would consider such to be subversive behavior, he double-locked Tommy Eluay’s submission in the desk drawer, then advised his staff that he was finished for the day. Threatened by a cloud of depression, the consulting geologist had the driver drop him off at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, where he headed to his favorite bar on the fourth floor.
Unbeknown to Stewart Campbell, as he settled down in O’Reiley’s Pub to his second vodka tonic, Tommy Eluay’s interrogation was already well under way at one of the Kopassus secret detention centers. Campbell’s office had been the first visited by the Papuan separatist, subsequent to his arrival that day. Eluay had been arrested in the car park and whisked away by the surveillance team before he could disseminate the remaining nineteen copies discovered in the case he had been carrying. The officer in charge of the covert operation was none other than Lieutenant Subandi, this most recent success guaranteeing his return to flying duties.
The following morning, when Campbell read of Tommy’s accidental death in The Observer, he immediately went to his office and removed the file from his desk then sent it, anonymously, to the Jakarta representative for Amnesty International. Later that day, he received a visit from immigration officials who asked to inspect copies of his passport and residency permit, and a concerned call from his sponsors at the Bandung Institute for Mines, enquiring as to why Military Intelligence was suddenly so interested in his activities.
****