The Ghost of Timor Ch. 17

January 2000

The rain and thunder that night were tremendous. Quite unlike any of the other tropical rain storms that I had experienced since arriving in Timor six months earlier. The weather gave Sally an excuse to spend one last night with me, as it was then too wet to leave. We enjoyed each other as much as we could and in between; we drank the last of what alcohol I had in the office.

It turned out that what remained was more than enough. We both began giggling and soon sleepiness prevented us from enjoying each other at all. We fell asleep naked, drunk and exhausted to the sound of rain and thunder that we thought might never end.

A ringing phone rudely awoke me some time later. I had been receiving phone calls at all hours for six months. They were part of the reason I was there. But since the emergency had eased and other communications improved, the calls had dropped off significantly. I could go days now with no calls at all.

I wasn't expecting any calls that night. Initially, I thought it was more thunder but eventually my mind clicked and I jumped out of bed. The lights had gone because of a power outage somewhere in the HQ. I stumbled around in the darkness, trying to get to the phone. The room was spinning unpleasantly too. I was still hungover.

I felt my way to my desk, following the sound of the ringing. Knocking the phone off its receiver. When I eventually picked it up, the voice on the other end was not happy. I mumbled something about the lights being out as the reason for my tardiness. It was partially true.

The voice didn't care about my problems and now started barking at me. Most of the words came at me before I realised they were giving me a task. I fumbled for a pen to write them down and, as I was without light, I used my bare arm to jot down a couple of details. Unfortunately, by the time I had written anything, I had forgotten the first part of the message and only caught the end. Even that proved too much and all I ended up with on my arm when the lights came back on were the words "Belo" "immediately" and "church".

In the cold light of day, it was obvious what I should have done. There was clearly an important report about Bishop Belo and/or his church and I needed to get it to the army immediately. But this was not the cold light of day. It was some time in the middle of the night. I was drunk and blinded by the darkness. And I had a naked woman somewhere in my office that I needed to deal with.

The voice sounded most insistent and clearly was upset that I'd taken so long to get to the phone. In my inebriated state, all I wanted to do was make the voice happy as fast as I could so I could go back to bed. The quickest way to do that, in my current estimation, was to go to the church.

With my course decided, I fumbled about the office, looking for my clothes and trying to wake Sally. That proved to be too hard, so I just left her to sleep. I assumed I would be back before she woke. As I was about to leave, I tripped over something on the ground and fell. I cursed, but still failed to wake Sally. Fumbling around, I located the trip hazard and cursed again. It was the pistol and its holster. I knew I couldn't just leave it there, so I decided that the safest thing to do was bring it with me. I grabbed my identity lanyard and unconsciously hung it around my neck, as I had done a million times in the past five years. Cursing again at having to get up in the middle of the night, I opened the door and stepped out into the storm.

The rain on my face woke me up somewhat, but by the way I was swaying, I knew I was still very drunk. The hangover to come that morning was going to be awful. I had to get to church immediately. Then I could come back here and deal with Sally and my headache that couldn't be far away.

Despite my current situation, I still knew how to get to the church. I am not good with details, but I am good with directions. Show me the way one time and I can navigate back ten years later. Show me a map and I can get there without ever visiting. The church was two kilometres away. Walkable, but not in my current state. I took a car to speed up my return. And I mean took.

The closest transport I could find was a 110 army Land Rover. Painted in camouflage, the Land Rover was the backbone of light army transport for Australia. Anyone who had learnt how to drive a manual could use one. They didn't require keys to start them. Same with all military vehicles, I suppose. Keys were a hindrance and easily lost, so you just had to turn the starter.

I should have asked to borrow it. But as it was the middle of the night and the rain was coming down in sheets, I didn't think anyone would miss it. I wasn't making many sensible decisions that evening. Stealing an army Land Rover was now my latest failure.

As the rain came down and the thunder roared around me, I opened the driver's side door and climbed in. Wet through, I was happy to be out of the rain none the less. I tried to make myself comfortable, but my clothes were sitting on me uncomfortably. I put that down to them being sodden and hoped to get back and out of them soon.

Turning the ignition, the Land Rover's diesel engine rumbled to life. I think in retrospect that the reason that I wasn't immediately hauled out of it and thrown in the mud by the Land Rover's owner was because of the thunder. Land Rovers are not quiet. The thunder must have masked its noise.

I rolled out of the compound and off in the direction I thought the church was in. The lights didn't give me away either. Military vehicles are all fitted with a blackout setting. Not exactly off, but very hard to see unless you were supposed to. The blackout setting was definitely on.

As I rolled through the town of Dili, I could occasionally make out shapes of people and animals. Most of the inhabitants were asleep or staying well out of the rain. They had repaired the town somewhat and there were lights on here and there. Every second building still appeared as a burnt-out shell, though.

The church was only two kilometres away. Even at the low speed I was doing, I was there in less than ten minutes. It was only when I was almost there that I questioned what I was doing. I was wet and miserable. Drenched, my clothes clinging uncomfortably, and driving a stolen army 4WD. To make matters worse, I just released that I shouldn't be there. My whole reason for being in Dili was to deliver reports to the task force so that they could act on them. I wasn't supposed to go into the field. It was now dawning on me that there must be a message back in my office that I was supposed to deliver to the commander. My drunken tryst with Sally had clearly impaired my judgement and I may have made it worse by leaving the HQ.

As the rain eased, I was calculating how much shit I would be in if they caught me. I prayed I could get back unnoticed when it all happened. The moment that would change my life forever unfolded before my eyes.

I don't know if it was the shouting or the unexpected movement at the church door that caused me to look up. Maybe it was the panic I was in or the alcohol dulling my senses, but I had been miles away in my head and could not at first comprehend what I was seeing. Two men, angry or in a hurry, were arguing with or frog marching a priest out into the night. The priest looked like he was trying to reason with them, but they were keen to move him on. They were on the clock or trying not to lose their nerve, but it seemed clear to me that the priest wasn't happy to be in their custody.

For a moment I watched the scene with some indifference, like someone watching a movie. Then I realised this was playing out for real in front of my eyes. This priest was being dragged into the darkness of a Timor night by two armed men. I felt the chill of death wash over me as my mind raced to guess this poor man's almost certain future. But that was nothing to the sickness that I then felt when I realised who this poor fellow was. Being dragged into the night for torment, or worse, was Bishop Carlos Belo.

It is impossible to sober up immediately, but my recollection of that moment was I was suddenly as awake as I ever had been. As the two gunmen threw Belo into the back of their waiting truck, I felt my hands twitch. I shiver came over me and I shook uncontrollably. I knew I was in grave danger and the only thing saving me was the darkness and my silence. A glance from either of those two men in my direction would mean certain death. At a range of less than 50 metres, their rifles couldn't miss. I watched in silent terror as they scanned the street for any signs of life. The nearest gunman turned his head slowly from left to right, sweeping his gaze across me and my truck. He stopped for a moment, looking directly at me. I could do nothing but will myself into invisibility. And then, satisfied that he was alone, he turned away, climbed inside and they all drove away.

When they were out of view, I let out a deep breath. Not knowing how long I had been holding it in. My whole body convulsed as the danger drove away into the darkness in front of me. I unclenched my fists and wiped my palms on my legs in the vain hope that I could rub the terror away.

"FUCK!" I screamed as loud as I could into the roof of the Land Rover. I scrunched my eyes as tight as I could and wished the night away. Then I opened my eyes, took a deep breath, turned the ignition and started after them.

I knew what I was doing was madness, but I had no choice. I had broken every rule in the liaison officer's book, and that had brought me here. Unarmed, with no hope of backup, alone and willingly driving to my death. A death that could come in many forms too horrible to contemplate but only end one way. My body alongside Belo's, in a shallow grave no one would ever find.

That was the only thing that kept me from running away that night and back to bed with Sally. Knowing that somewhere, just a little way ahead, was a man who was now more terrified than I. I had to help him if I could. I just didn't know how.

The Land Rover's black out lights and the thunder drowning out the throbbing diesel covered my pursuit. I made up the distance on them quickly and soon saw their single working tail light in the distance. The roads and the weather saw that this was no high-speed chase. I never glanced at the speedo but am sure that we never got much above 40 kph. A 110 Land Rover is fine for off-road, but it would lose to most other vehicles twice its age in any sprint. But my quarry wasn't in a hurry and as they turned off the sealed road, the Land Rover came into its own.

I knew we were roughly heading west, but the turn of the main road into the back country soon made it difficult to exactly which way they were heading. The Land Rover had no difficulty keeping up. That was good as, with my blackouts on, all I had to drive by was that single tail light ahead. Occasionally, I would lose sight of it as the road twisted and turned. But it would quickly reappear as we climbed higher into hills of the Timor back country.

As I drove, I tried to plan my next move. But all I could hope for at that point was that I might go unnoticed and that I could report back on the location of Belo sometime the next day. It would be then the job of braver and better armed men than me to retrieve him, alive or dead. I was just wondering how far we had come and whether we had crossed the border into Indonesia when I came to a screeching halt. Less than 50 metres in front of me, my pursuit had finally ended.

The gunmen's truck had stopped, and they were dragging Belo out roughly. Ahead of them was a clearing in the forest that was illuminated by what seemed to be something other than their truck's headlights. As they pushed Belo forward, more figures appeared out of the darkness and stepped into the light. They spoke but I couldn't make not out a single word. I could recognise both Tetum and Bhasa, but that was as much as I could manage. But the gist of the conversation was clear. The gunmen clearly expected to be greeted as heroes, but their hosts were not so welcoming.

I climbed out of the Land Rover as silently as I could to get a closer look, but quickly found that something tangled me up. I thought at first that my drinking might have impaired me. But as fumbled around in the dark, I realised that something in the cab had hooked me. Feeling around, I tried to free myself. With a mixture of panic and relief, I worked out what was holding me up. The pistol's holster had become tangled on some object inside the cab. Armed but, because of Sally's sensible roleplay precautions, I had no bullets.

Removing the magazine, I rechecked to assure myself that the pistol wasn't loaded. Sally had pushed the magazine follower down at an angle. This allowed the slide to move forward and give the appearance that the SIG was loaded. I suspected that was how Sally had fooled me the previous night. I had a pistol that looked loaded, but wasn't.

As I crept forward in the darkness, the conversation between the two groups became more animated. Belo was standing silently amid it all, trying to make himself as small as possible. Another player had entered the fray but was similarly silent. But his presence exuded menace and death. An officer in the Indonesian army had now entered the clearing and seemed to weigh up the situation.

You can say what you want about the proficiency of third world armies. But when instilling fear in the lower ranks, a silent officer contemplating life and death is a sight that will chill you to your bones. I'd seen it many times in newsreels and Vietnam War TV footage. That look of menace from one who is extremely confident in their role as judge, jury and executioner. The cold, calculating eyes deciding if they should dispense death and to whom.

I will never know what he said, but when one gunman suddenly forced Belo to his knees, I knew I had to act. The officer took a step toward Belo just as I burst into the clearing. I had no bullets, but I withdrew the SIG from its holster and used the only weapon I had.

"Hey!" I bellowed as I bee-lined toward the kneeling Belo. My voice boomed out of the darkness and startled the small group. As was the usual case with my drinking, my voice dropped an entire octave from a rich baritone to a thundering bass. After a big night, I could give Barry White a run for his money.

I had their full attention and whatever they had planned immediately stopped. I was high on adrenaline and kept moving forward as I continued with my bluster. Everyone but the officer took a step back as I approached and they seemed to shrink as I neared them.

I focused all my attention on the officer. I was dead if any of the others tried anything. So I chanced my luck that no one else would try anything while he was there. Grabbing Belo by his collar, I looked the officer in the eye and said, "This man belongs to me."

I paused for a moment, without breaking my gaze with the officer. No one made a move for an eternity. I thought that I might have pulled it off when one gunman suddenly arced up. He started shouting at me in words I could not understand.

Then his fellow joined in the fray, directing his anger at the officer. The first gunman pointed his rifle at me while looking at the officer for permission to fire. I could see the wheels turning in the man's head and knew that my bluff had failed. I had no plan B and knew that this was it when the officer's assistant suddenly intervened.

In what I can only assume was the Tetum equivalent of, "Silence!" he hissed at the gunmen, and all was suddenly still. He turned his attention to the officer and whispered. They all heard him and turned to look at me. Not my face, mind you. And not the pistol either. Something about me or my dress had suddenly caught their eye. I continued to look directly at the officer and saw his eyes narrow to a squint. As if he was picking out some tiny detail about me.

He must have seen what he needed because the next thing he said were clearly orders. One gunman protested but was immediately cut down by a barrage of abuse by the officer's assistant. The gunman kept up his pleas, but one withering stare from the officer reduced him to a snivelling mouse. He turned back to me and, with a dismissive wave, gestured I could go. I don't know why I did it, but something compelled me to straighten myself up and salute him. He gave me the faintest of smiles before he returned my salutation. I nodded, hauled Belo to his feet, and hurried him to my truck.

Scarcely believing that I was alive, I turned the ignition and engaged the reverse gear. As we backed away from the clearing and into the darkness of the trail, Belo started thanking me in broken English.

"Thank you America. Thank you CIA!"

Confused by the ease of our escape and slightly miffed that his first thought was that I was working for Uncle Sam, I asked, "Why did they let us go? Why did you say 'CIA'?"

Belo looked at me in confusion for a moment, then leant over and held up the lanyard that was around my neck. "CIA?"