LITMIR.BIZ

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unobtrusive means possible.

      Whitehead’s eyes canvassed the wall of his domain, drawn to a wall plaque that he had inscribed as a constant reminder of any nation’s vulnerability, when overly dependent on its intelligence-gathering apparatus and personnel.

       “In the eyes of posterity it will inevitably seem that, in safeguarding our freedom, we destroyed it. The vast clandestine apparatus we built up to prove our enemies’ resources and intentions only served in the end to confuse our own purposes; that practice of deceiving others for the good of the state led infallibly to our deceiving ourselves; and that vast army of clandestine personnel built up to execute these purposes were soon caught up in the web of their own sick fantasies, with disastrous consequences for them and us.”

      Malcolm Muggeridge

       May 1966

      The MI6 station chief’s secretary knocked once then entered. ‘Your wife called ... again,’ she informed, not without a hint of annoyance, ‘... to remind you not to be late.’

      Lawrence Whitehead checked his wrist. ‘Might not be such a bad idea to leave a little earlier for the airport, what with the demonstrations gaining momentum. Have my car brought around then call my wife to inform her I’m on my way to take her to the airport.’

      * * * *

      Royal Netherlands Embassy

      Army recruits dressed in civilian attire scrambled from army transports parked in an adjacent street. They jogged towards the Dutch Embassy, their crew-cut hairstyles and military boots obvious to onlookers parked not so discreetly in diplomatic-plated vehicles, snapping photographs, monitoring the demonstration. Amongst these were British, American and Australian observers whose countries shared common interests in the world’s largest Moslem nation’s recent shift towards democracy. The Soviets had long lost interest following President Sukarno’s downfall, his demise spiraling the world’s third largest Communist party into oblivion. Having provided (and lost) hundreds of millions in both military and commercial aid Moscow now maintained a more pragmatic approach to Jakarta, diverting much of their energy to North Vietnam.

      The soldiers infiltrated the scene waving placards demanding the Dutch Government withdraw its request for United Nations troops to be stationed in West Papua. Within minutes the gathering degenerated into a hysterical mass of screaming demonstrators, when military provocateurs commenced throwing missiles over the entrance’s two-metre walled barrier, into steel-shuttered windows.

      Chants of ‘Belanda pulang!’ and ‘Belanda jangan campur tangan!’ could be heard reverberating along the street, the calls for the Dutch to go home and cease interfering in domestic issues gathering momentum as another truckload of agitators joined the fray. Dutch Embassy staff had commenced implementing Level Two readiness orders which effectively shutdown all Consular services to the general public.

      * * * *

      Although it was unlikely the demonstrators would breach embassy security, First Secretary Alexander Hoffman, or “Sander” as he was more commonly called was, nonetheless, reminded of the recent attack against the nearby Singapore Embassy in the elite central suburb of Menteng. At the time, even he had been surprised with the viciousness of the assault, recalling that the retributive attacks were in retaliation to Singapore’s hanging of two Indonesian commandos. The men had penetrated the island’s defences and detonated a bomb at the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank, killing two — and partially destroying the Australian High Commission. He had seen Jakarta’s normally gridlocked streets transform eerily into traffic-less avenues when the soldier’s bodies were transported from Kemayoran to the hero’s cemetrey, Kalibata.

      Sander had anticipated the demonstrations having received warnings from informants. He had assessed the volatile climate and the potential for spillover from the current Malaysian riots which, since erupting the month before, had already claimed two hundred lives. As a senior intelligence officer, it was his responsibility to monitor not only Indonesia’s domestic situation, but also that of neighbouring countries. He had read the briefs concerning the Malaysian State of Emergency, surprised when the Malaysian Parliament had been suspended. He and others amongst the diplomatic corps had expressed concern that the racially-driven unrest might spread across the Malacca Straits and result in a repeat of the 1965-66 purge, which near-decimated Indonesia’s ethnic Chinese population. Sander was also disquieted by the opportunity such instability offered the military-driven Indonesian Government to implement covert, state-sponsored terror campaigns as it had so effectively initiated over the past three years since General Suharto’s coup d’etat in March 1966.

      * * * *

      Sander’s eyes remained transfixed on the dossier’s contents — the First Secretary momentarily mesmerised by the lifeless, black and white imagery of the murdered Dutch missionary Jeanne Heynneman. He remained in silent contemplation, the tips of his right hand unconsciously brushing imaginary dust from the stark photograph, his mind wandering back a year to when he had last spoken to the woman.

      * * * *

      ‘Then you won’t reconsider?’ Having learned of Jeanne’s missionary appointment which would take her to West Irian, Sander had invited her to the embassy to seek her cooperation in providing regular, on the ground information which might be of value to the Dutch Government. Sander was a serving Dutch Army officer actively engaged in security matters under the auspices of LAMID, the Netherlands Army Intelligence Service. As was the situation with other Western nations, they were bereft of intelligence assets across the huge West Irian expanse, the Dutch marginally ahead in the game benefitting from missionaries who had remained in the territory, subsequent to the effective annexation in 1963.

      Jeanne Heynneman’s in-country presence had become known to embassy officials some three years earlier when she had pleaded for The Hague’s intervention on behalf of her Papuan husband, Johannes. He had been arrested following the September 1965 failed Communist takeover, falsely accused of participating in Left Wing subversive activities and, along with some twenty-thousand other political detainees, incarcerated without trial at the infamous Nusa Kambangan prison.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mister Hoffman,’ she had refused adamantly. ‘I would not be comfortable doing so. My work as a missionary for the Council of Churches cannot be compromised.’

      Sanders, disguising his disappointment persisted. ‘I cannot give you any guarantees, Jeanne, but your support in this matter might encourage our government to reconsider your husband’s situation.’

      A year had passed and yet Jeanne Heynneman’s response still reverberated in his ears.

      ‘Then you haven’t heard?’ was her accusatory response. ‘My husband Johannes was transported to Buru Island Prison.’ Sander recalled the pit forming in his stomach as she rose, preparing to leave. ‘Where he survived only a few weeks.’ Hesitating at the doorway she turned, fire in her eyes. ‘You will forgive my being bitter. All I have left now Mister Hoffman is God’s work and my son, Julius. Please do not approach me on this matter, again.’

      Sander returned to the present reminded that Jeanne had a child. He rifled through the dossier photographs but found nothing except a file annotation referring to one Julius Heynneman whose birth had been recorded with the consular section. The First Secretary was not surprised that the boy’s mother had registered Julius with her maiden name, concluding that the father, Johannes, as was the custom in Indonesia, most likely never used his family surname.

      A telephone rang interrupting his introspective mood.

      ‘Ambassador has summoned everyone to his office,’ the Consul alerted. ‘The demonstration appears to be getting out of hand.’ Sander filled his lungs slowly, initialed the report and closed the file, clearing his desk of all sensitive material which he then had locked away in the central registry’s vault, the fugacious thought of Julius Heynneman’s whereabouts lost to more pressing priorities.

      * * * *

      Australian Embassy

       “Our aim is not to be impartial (with respect to Indonesia) for the sake of impartiality but to have the appearance of impartiality

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