The Fifth Season (20 page)

The General's thoughts moved to his family and, for a brief moment, he became troubled recalling the warning he had given his daughter, Hani.

He was tempted to send her back to Sukabumi where she could remain with her aunt until the current troubles were resolved. She would be safe there, as student activity had been easily contained by the resident military forces and, he knew, the local students just did not have the same fire in their hearts as was evident on Jakarta campuses.

General Purwadira opened the top drawer to his oversized, highly polished teak desk and extracted a
kretek
cigarette from its packet. He lit the clove-scented cigarette and drew heavily filling his tarred lungs, enjoying the warming sensation as the smoke relaxed his mind, removing some of the mounting tension which had threatened to ruin his day.

His eyes fell back to the disturbing reports which lay scattered across his desk. Annoyed that the responsibility for investigating the kidnappings had fallen upon his shoulders when he knew that those responsible were shielded by the President's own son-in-law, he cursed the former Javanese
Kopassus
Commander, convinced that the missing students had been Praboyo's handiwork.

Eleven more families had filed missing-person's reports at police stations within his jurisdiction. Purwadira counted silently, placing the number of students who had suddenly disappeared from their universities over the past six weeks, at around thirty-five.
Where in the hell was Praboyo's Special
team hiding these youngsters?
he worried, concerned also with the possibility that they could be dead, their bodies buried somewhere within the heavily-wooded areas behind the Special Forces Command Headquarters.

The growing number of missing students had not gone unnoticed by the Press, and although the police general had few concerns as what the domestic press might print, he was particularly worried with what might appear in the international papers. Reminded that he had agreed to an interview, General Purwadira called his personal assistant and instructed the officer to postpone the meeting until the following day, apologizing to the foreign journalist that he had been summoned to the Palace, and would not be able to meet that day, as earlier agreed.

Satisfied that this was a sensible decision to make, the Jakarta Garrison Commander then ordered his aide to contact his golfing partner,
Oom Setio
, and inform him that he would tee off at two o'clock at the Kuningan Golf Club. He then left his headquarters, his spirits lifted with the thought of beating the Chinese yet again at his favorite game. Within minutes of the general's vehicle leaving the garrison compound, he had all but dismissed the startling information contained in that morning's daily report, accepting that it would be foolish of any career officer to even consider taking the matter any further for fear of revealing those behind the student kidnappings.

Pleased to have put the problem behind him, General Purwadira later settled down to play eighteen holes of golf. His handicap was in no way impaired by the knowledge that, somewhere, and in all likelihood in a place not too far away from where he played that day, the bodies of those missing students whose names had been brought to his attention would be gone forever, buried in unmarked graves.

Mary Jo received the news with indifference, having half-expected her interview with the police general to be postponed. It had happened before, and the American journalist had soon learned to accept that either Indonesian ‘rubber-time', or some fabricated excuse would result in most of her appointments being derailed. At first, she found it extremely irritating.

Now, after several months, Jo had assimilated somewhat to local practices, never really confident of achieving those interviews she so desperately needed until actually sitting face-to-face with her subject. General Purwadira's typical last-minute cancellation had left her with a hole in her day, and when she received the phone call, the afternoon suddenly brightened.

‘Feel like a few drinks, perhaps a swim around the pool?' Hamish McLoughlin's now familiar voice invited. He had phoned regularly since returning to Hong Kong, promising to provide her with details relating to the Perentie collapse. She was flattered by his frequent calls, and although they had met only once, Mary Jo was delighted that he had returned to Jakarta.

‘As it so happens, I'm available,' she accepted. Mary Jo's response had little to do with her professional activities. Life in Jakarta, even with its socially active expatriate community, had its downside for single foreign women. Particularly if that person was associated with the Western Press, for business circles avoided mixing with members of the Fourth Estate, concerned that their companies' activities might be jeopardized should they be at any time mentioned in the foreign media. All accepted that the Indonesian Government was most uncompromising in its attitude towards journalists, particularly those associated with Australian newspapers.

‘Great, Jo, I'll wait for you pool-side. We can have a late lunch.'

‘Be there in less than an hour,' she promised, with some alacrity, quickly changing into her white, two-piece bikini, before wrapping a brightly colored rayon sarong around her waist. Mary Jo checked her makeup, placed her sunglasses inside her handbag and left a note for her assistant with the servants. She located a pair of open-leather casuals buried deep inside the walk-in robes and slipped these on, standing before her bedroom dressing mirror for one final inspection. Then she hurried outside to the waiting taxi her guard had hailed, and instructed the driver to take her downtown to the Grand Hyatt Hotel where Hamish McLoughlin waited.

As they drove through Kemang and into Kebayoran Baru, Mary Jo's trained eye identified the increased presence of troops around these two suburbs. Armed Personnel Carriers were positioned at strategic intersections, and they passed numerous truckloads of soldiers dressed in full battle-dress as the taxi continued towards the city, where further evidence of the military build-up became evident.

Commencing from where the statue expatriates irreverently named Hot Plate Harry threatened to leap from the roundabout, Mary Jo witnessed a growing number of people gathering as she continued towards the city's centre. She searched for signs of student participation but saw none. Mary Jo could see from their solemn faces and raised, angry fists, that the crowd had become belligerent, and she became concerned as the traffic slowed to a crawl, the road ahead partially blocked by the mass of people. Her driver turned, his face covered with concern.

‘It will be all right, miss,'
he attempted to assure her, unconvincingly.

Suddenly someone banged the side of the taxi, scaring the hell out of her as she turned, fighting the growing panic when she discovered that the road behind had been smothered with pedestrians. Another loud ham-mering towards the rear of the vehicle alarmed her even further, and she could see from the driver's wide eyes that they were in extreme danger, caught in the centre of an evolving demonstration.

An angry fist hit the window closest to her face threatening to shatter the safety glass, the force of the blow sufficient to send fear through their hearts as others joined in the attack. Brought to a standstill, vehicles ahead and those caught in adjacent lanes were not spared, as the mob grabbed whatever they could for leverage and rocked the cars from side to side, the passengers too terrified to leave the relative safety of their sedans.

Suddenly, Mary Jo heard the crowd cheer, and she caught a brief glimpse of a Toyota's tires as the demonstrators successfully turned the Japanese vehicle on its side. In that moment, fear drove her to open the door and run, but she could not, completely at a loss as to why her door would not open. Fortunately, it was locked. She had unconsciously engaged the lock when entering the taxi earlier, a habit she had developed while living in New York. As her panic grew and she yelled at the driver to assist, the air cracked loudly, and Mary Jo instinctively threw herself across the seat, recognizing the sounds of automatic weapon-fire.

The crowd roared and turned to flee in panic. Police armed with riot gear appeared, swinging batons indiscriminately as another round of shots was fired above the retreating crowd. Amazingly, within seconds the road ahead appeared devoid of troublemakers, the remaining undamaged vehicles taking advantage of the lull to flee before the opportunity was lost.

Mary Jo's driver did not hesitate, driving his own gas pedal to the floor, sending their taxi sliding into the wrecked Toyota ahead. Even the wailing screams of metal tearing against metal could not discourage the man to slow down, his passenger now just as terrified as before.

‘For god's sake!' she yelled, still attempting to recover her balance as the car slid dangerously. ‘I said, slow down!' she screamed, this time with some effect, as the driver eased his foot from the accelerator a fraction. Mary Jo cried out again, relieved when the terrified man obeyed and only just in time to negotiate the entrance to the Grand Hyatt hotel. Incredibly, the taxi then stalled inside the driveway.

Shaking from her ordeal, Mary Jo leaped from the damaged car and stood, fumbling inside here purse for the fare. The driver lowered his eyes when she offered payment, gratefully pocketing the money as she entered the hotel and disappeared from view.

Inside the magnificently appointed hotel, Mary Jo slowly climbed the stairs leading up to the Fountain Lounge on the mezzanine level. There, unnoticed by the other guests, she dropped into a chair and examined her unsteady hands, immediately wishing she hadn't given up smoking.

Although this was not the first time Mary Jo had been exposed to danger, accepting that her profession would require some risk, the events of the past minutes had badly shaken her. A waiter fussed, but she merely smiled and shook her head when he offered her refreshments.

The view to the street was partially blocked by a number of excited guests and, having regained her composure, Mary Jo moved to a more commanding position. She stood there amidst the others, observing rows of anti-riot police marching in close formation towards a number of demonstrators who had foolishly failed to flee. Armed only with rocks, they were no match for the well-trained police. Reinforced by a number of armed personnel carriers, she watched in silence as the Jakarta Garrison troops appeared, running past the lines of police, their protective shields, helmets and uniforms reminiscent of costumes from some science fiction epic.

Mary Jo remained standing there watching as the violence continued, annoyed at having left her cameras at home. In one final bloody clash, it was all over, the remaining demonstrators easily subdued by the troops. These consolidated their position, kicking and punching civilians who had fallen injured to the street. As the troops continued to deal with these citizens directly in view of the astonished hotel guests, another detail of soldiers appeared and dragged the unconscious victims away. An air of disbelief hung heavily amongst the guests, shocked by the brutal display. Slowly, they moved back to their tables as light, classical music accompanied their chatter, the guests too excited to even consider the dessert buffet and
a la carte
snacks for which this well frequented lounge was so renowned.

Mary Jo decided that as the troops had secured the area within view, there was little point remaining in the lounge although, in the distance, she could still see evidence of the unrest as isolated columns of smoke appeared to the north. Still disappointed at having missed an excellent photo opportunity, she left the lounge and made her way outside, to the lagoon-styled swimming pool. There, she found Hamish McLoughlin sitting amongst the lush tropical garden setting, enjoying a drink at the swim-up bar, as if oblivious to the sporadic gunfire and sirens on the streets below. She waved, removed her wrap-around skirt, and placed this over her handbag. Then she casually entered the pool and swam over to where he was sitting.

‘Thought you might have changed your mind,' he greeted her. Mary Jo detected surprise in his voice.

‘Did you miss the excitement?' she asked, astonished that he seemed not at all disturbed by the riots. Hamish grinned, his eyes shielded by sunglasses.

‘No, not entirely,' he replied, ‘the view from up there is quite something.'

He pointed to the hotel's upper levels. ‘Once it started, I tried to phone but you had already left. In truth, I expected you'd turn around once you realized what was happening.' Mary Jo could see that he was not being critical.

‘It was ugly,' was all she could muster, alerting her companion to her distress. She forced a smile, then ordered a Bloody Mary, pleased that he hadn't pressed. ‘Tell you about it later,' she promised, beginning to relax in the warm, tropical setting. She accepted the cocktail, removed the straw from her glass and finished the vodka and tomato juice in one attempt.

Hamish nodded to the bartender and placed his hand on Mary Jo's lightly tanned shoulder.

‘Hungry?' he asked, realizing that she was upset. He removed his sunglasses and placed these on the tiled bar.

‘I wasn't but too many of these on an empty stomach might not be such a good idea,' she said, grateful for his company. ‘Are we eating here?'

she looked around the delightful setting, content to remain in the relaxed atmosphere.

‘Why don't we grab something light now, and save ourselves for dinner?' he suggested, assuming Jo would want to stay. ‘Your choice. Tonight you may have Japanese, Cantonese, seafood, or whatever you like.' She looked at Hamish and raised one eyebrow, the alcohol's soothing effects beginning to flow through her body.

‘Sure, why not,' she smiled, not overly anxious to return to her villa.

Not, at least, until she had recovered from her journey into the city. The bartender offered them menus and they ordered sandwiches, requesting that these be served under one of the thatched-roofed structures set back from the pool, out of the sun's punishing rays. After they had finished eating, the afternoon became unusually quiet and they lay back and relaxed, the absence of further violence on the streets below, reassuring.