The Ghost of Timor Ch. 18

January 2000

I put the Land Rover into reverse and eased my way back along the trail as far as my nerves would allow me. My heart was pounding so loud that I thought my chest might explode. Gripping the wheel so hard, I could barely bring myself to release it to switch on the headlights once we were in the clear. Easier said than done when I knew a rifle bullet could travel 400m in less than half a second. But I eventually found a place to turn around and headed back down to Dili.

The trip back down the mountain trail was a blur of trees and track. Both were completely useless as reference points as I passed them earlier in the dark. Somehow, the Land Rover stayed on track despite my hurry to get away as fast as I could. So, it was with the greatest of relief when I finally spotted lights through trees on the outskirts of town.

Once I knew we were safe, my mind raced forward to what I must do in the next hour before dawn. I was alive, but I had to tie up a few loose ends and concoct a water tight story to cover my activities that night.

I had to admit where I had been and what I had done in the previous few hours for several reasons. First, Belo was alive and would talk. It was great that he had made it through the night, but that was a complication I needed to see to. Second, if the militia had tried to kidnap him once, they may try it again. He would need protection, and the only way he would get that is if we recounted the events of that night to the authorities.

I would also need to change my lanyard. It would probably not be an issue, but I knew the way small minded investigators thought. Once someone dissected the details of that night, they were bound to assume that I had left the compound under the delusion that I was a real life James Bond. Nothing could be further from the truth, but try explaining that to some public servant back in Canberra who had decided that they were Colombo!

The SIG also had to go. I thought for a moment of tossing it out the window, but with Belo sitting next to me, that would arouse his suspicions. At that moment, he was my trump card and I could ill afford to lose his goodwill by disposing of a firearm in front of him on the streets of war torn Dili.

Sally was still waiting for me in the office. Probably naked too, the saucy minx. But now that was another problem. I had to get her out as soon as I could without getting into more trouble. Fortunately, Sally was an ally in many of my illegalities. I knew I could trust her to help me in my hour of need.

I got Belo and myself safely back to the compound with no further mishap and pulled the Land Rover up just outside of my office. Telling Belo to stay put, I sprinted into the shipping container and set about covering my tracks.

I fired up my computer and logged on. While it was going through its warm up, I glanced at the office clock and noted that it was 5:55am back in Canberra. Perfect, the overnight shift would leave for home any minute.

Leaving that pot to stew, I ducked into my bedroom to rouse Sally. She was still naked, and I thought for half a second of diving into bed to join her before I brought myself to my senses. I had a quick look, though. Sigh. I woke Sally gently, but with some urgency. She looked at me with hungover eyes, so I pitied I had to ask her to help me.

"Sally, please listen to me. This is very important."

"Wha...?"

"I need you to take this lanyard and the pistol and hide them." I said as I disconnected my identity cards and I handed them to her.

"Why?"

"I can't explain right now. I'm in big trouble and I have to leave now."

"Ok." she said, becoming more alert by the second. "What else can I do?"

"I need you to get dressed and leave. Lock the door on the way out. No one can see you leave and no one can ever know about us. Do you understand?"

Sitting up, Sally smiled through her hangover and scanned the room groggily for her clothes.

"Yep. I'm on it!"

Sally was magnificent. I winced at the thought that this might be the last time I saw her. Definitely the last time in her state of undress. "Can I just...." I said, reaching for her arse.

"Oh, if you must!" she replied, rolling her eyes and giggling.

I pulled her close and kissed her. Fondling her all over and almost forgetting the urgency of my situation.

"Go, idiot!"

I pulled away and ran back to the office. Glancing at the clock, I noted it was 6:01am in Canberra. Perfect, the night watch will be out of the office by now. The new watch may have gotten a handover, but they would still be unfamiliar with the details of last night's phone call.

I found the report I needed and scanned it quickly for details. The basics were all there about the possible Belo kidnap but still vague enough to say that it was not a 100% certain. Perfect, I could work with that. Once again, a report written in public service mumbo-jumbo easily interpreted anyway the reader wanted. Or the authorities needed. But this time, I would be the beneficiary.

I checked the clock again; 6:04am. I sorted through the pile of lanyards on my desk to find the one I was looking for. The Country Women's Association was about to go on Broadway. Showtime. I picked up the phone and hit the call back, automatically dialling the Voice from last night.

"Day watch!" a fresh voice said. Perfect.

"Jeremy Holland in Timor here."

"How can I help?" the unfamiliar voice asked, sounding like I'd just interrupted their quiet morning.

"Just reporting in on last night's orders from the (old voice). I've picked up Bishop Belo as instructed and I am just going to deliver him to the Taskforce Commander. Got it?"

There were whispers and sounds of writing. Clearly, this fresh voice did not know about any orders and me being instructed to pick up Belo.

"I have to go now. Please let (old voice) know I have carried out her task."

"Ok," (new voice) said. "Will do. Have a good day."

"Thanks." I hung up and gave myself a self-high five. The night watch wasn't due back in the office for 12 hours. They would switch off their phones and be out of it for hours as they caught up on sleep. By the time they got wind of what had happened, my version of events would be the basis of everything that followed.

I printed off the report and headed outside. It was just after 4am in Dili and the sun would rise soon. I checked the Land Rover to see that Belo was still ok. I hadn't been gone 15 minutes, so he was still happy enough to be sitting there alone.

"Are you well?" I asked, genuinely interested in his well-being, as I fumbled to attach my IDs.

"Thank you, yes. Should we go to the soldiers now?"

"Just one last thing." I said. Taking the report, I dropped it in the mud. I then stepped on it to make sure it was good and soaked before I picked up and put in my pocket. "We are all set!"

________________________________________

The next few days were a blur of questions, congratulations and insinuations. I had a head start on everyone, so I was prepared for the barrage of investigation that followed. If it had been some other misdemeanour, a thorough sifting of evidence would have brought me undone. But I had concocted a story that only one other person a thousand miles away could challenge. That meant I had at least a 50/50 chance I would be believed. My word again hers. Getting my version of events in first and tampering with the evidence only further muddied the waters.

I told every investigator who asked that the call in the middle of the night had instructed me to go to the church and deliver the report to our soldiers on watch.

When I arrived and saw no Australian's on duty, I was about to leave. The kidnapping then took place in front of me, so I used my initiative and followed. The only part of that story that I concocted was the details of the phone call. Everything else was true. I fabricated the phone instructions to cover up that I acted under the influence of alcohol. And that I'd partied the night away with a naked married woman and had an illegal firearm in my possession.

My trump card was Belo. He corroborated the most dramatic elements of my story. His good health also caused problems for anyone wanting to question my actions too closely. Regardless of motive, if I hadn't acted when I did, Belo would now most likely be dead.

There was also the uncomfortable question about why he wasn't being guarded, or at least watched. The military had to answer for that one, so they didn't ask too many questions either.

Later analysis by the big brains back in Canberra concluded the militiamen had acted independently. They thought they could incite some kind of incident between the Australian and Indonesian military on the border of Timor. That might start some kind of war, or at least Indonesia reneging on Timor's independence. Not all plans are the work of geniuses, and this one was a good example of that.

I didn't care about any of that big picture rubbish, though. The only thing that keep me guessing was the apparent ease of my escape. The one reason that made sense to me was my possession of the gun and the CIA lanyard. The way they looked at me and whispered amongst themselves suggested that there was something special which had caused them to pause. Someone appearing out of nowhere, brandishing a firearm and dressed as a CIA agent, must have done the trick.

There was some bad blood between me and the watch officers back in Canberra, but that was unavoidable. Someone had to go under the bus so I could get off scot free and watch officers are as good as any to take the blame. In my experience, they are mostly lazy good for nothings, taking extra pay for working hours that no sane person would in a fit. And I would know. I used to be one of them.

I was feeling pretty good about myself and enjoying the pats on the back and extra drinks I was getting in the mess. Bruce was my biggest fan and let me know that most of the military were pleased as punch by my heroism. He also put me on a pedestal for sleeping with Sally on the side for several months. For questionable sexual liaisons, Bruce was a sucker for a good story. I thought I was totally in the clear when I suddenly got the second biggest scare of my time in Timor. My replacement arrived early, and I was told to pack and leave within the hour!

The shock of their arrival and my expedited departure did not bode well. Someone wanted me out of Dili as soon as possible. Likely, I would get on the same plane that my replacement had arrived on. I was told that it was being refuelled and would depart presently. As I got back to my office, I found that someone had removed my personal luggage trunk for transport. I had to grab the last of my scattered personal effects and throw them in a plastic garbage bag to take them with me.

I had to go through a customs inspection when I arrived back in Australia and hadn't had time to get rid of any contraband. But I thanked my lucky stars that Sally had been on hand that fateful night to dispose of the suspicious lanyard and the pistol.

I was just about to climb into the waiting truck that would take me to the airfield. But I had five minutes, so I quickly searched for Sally so I could say goodbye. We kept a respectful distance apart to avoid any prying eyes, but we smiled and winked while we said our farewells.

"Thank you for everything." I said.

"The pleasure was all mine."

"Not all yours," I said, winking.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"I hope so. All clear so far. Thanks for taking care of those things for me. Was it hard?"

"Oh, it was no problem at all. They are both hidden at the bottom of your trunk!"

________________________________________

Sally couldn't have known that I was going to be leaving in such haste, so the trunk was probably the safest place she could think of. But all the evidence anyone needed to pick holes in my story was now locked in a trunk of a C-130 that I couldn't get to.

For the few hours we took to fly back to Darwin, I rattled my brain for ways to access the trunk. But, surrounded as I was by 100 other departing personnel, there was no way to get to the SIG and lanyard without being seen. I turned my mind to finding any excuse for having either, but could think of none. Once discovered, someone would ask questions. Eventually, they would put two and two together, and then I was done.

So later that day, I again resigned myself to my inevitable demise. I lined up without protest in an empty hanger at Darwin airport with the 100 other returnees and readied my trunk for inspection. I hoped Customs might just do random spot checks and that luck might favour me. But it looked like a 100% inspection, so I just had to sit there and wait till they caught me. Worse still, as I was the only civilian amongst the group, there was no chance that Customs would turn a blind eye to me lest the military folk cry favouritism.

The Customs and police worked their way closer toward me. Confiscating contraband and discovering secret stashes as they went. I wondered if there had been any way I could have avoided this fate. Of course, there was, but I admitted then that to play by the rules wasn't in my nature. I was a gambler and risk taker.

Most of the time it paid off because no one was really watching, but every so often the system worked as intended, and it caught up with me. I doubted I could ever change. Doomed to a life of trying to stay one step ahead of the man.

I had drifted off into my thoughts when an official sounding voice spoke to me.

"Excuse me, sir. Are you Jeremy Holland?"

"Yes," I replied. Not bothering to look up at the speaker.

"And are these your belongings, sir?" Always very polite, these officials.

"Yes."

"Do you mind accompanying us, please, sir?" It wasn't a request.

I stood up and watched two burley luggage loaders take my trunk and hoist it onto a waiting trolley. I expected the trolley would head toward a back room where they would arrest me. So, you could imagine my surprise when it turned the opposite direction and headed back toward the tarmac. As I watched, it headed toward a small jet that seemed preparing to depart.

"If you don't mind, sir, your aircraft is ready for take-off."

It was only then that I turned to look at the fellow who had been talking to me. It was not the iron fist in the velvet glove of a police detective or a Custom official that confronted me. Dressed in the smart uniform of a RAAF Flying Officer, I laid eyes on the clean-cut innocence of a young man clearly fresh out of the Defence Force Academy.

"This way, sir," the kid said, directing me to the plane with an outstretched palm.

"Where are we going?" I asked, completely bewildered.

"RAAF Fairburn," he said. "Canberra."