Rogue Element

‘Prime Minister, we’ve just been told the plane was shot down and, despite what the Indonesian authorities are telling us, I’m pretty certain I know where it came down. I’m talking about a limited, covert operation to secure the site for an international inspection team, and retrieve the aircraft’s black boxes.’

‘And what — the Indonesians would just put out the welcome mat, I suppose?’ said Sharpe smugly, certain the CDF had just hung himself.

Niven ignored him. ‘What I’m suggesting here is that we take the initiative.’ Blight and Griffin appeared doubtful. ‘Look, Indonesia is unwilling to let us help locate QF-1. The question is, why? More planes in the air, more eyes searching, we’d find it quicker. And a little of the spirit of cooperation between our two countries wouldn’t be a bad thing.’

The PM nodded slowly, tentatively buying the logic.

‘Obviously because they don’t want us picking over it. We’d know pretty much instantly that it was shot down. But what if there’s another reason? They must know we’re going to find out what happened to QF-1. What if they’re just stalling for time? What if it’s the motive for shooting down the plane that they’re so reluctant to let us see? Could that be found in the wreckage?’ This thought occurred to Niven while he spoke, yet the force of it hit him like a revelation.

‘What about this Cee Squared/Joe Light bloke?’ asked the Prime Minister, hoping to find another answer somewhere. Niven was suggesting an aggressive course of action that made him feel downright uncomfortable. ‘He’s obviously the key to this.’

‘I’ll get on that immediately, Bill,’ said Griffin.

Blight felt queasy. He took a sip of water to calm his stomach. As much as he would have liked it otherwise, the air vice marshal’s head-on approach was perhaps the only way through. ‘I think I see your point, Spike,’ said Blight. ‘You’re saying they shot the plane down for a reason, and that that’s more important to keep secret than the crime itself.’

‘Exactly,’ said Niven.

‘Jesus, what the hell could it be?’ said Blight, rapidly finding himself infected with Niven’s suspicions.

‘With respect, Spike,’ said Griffin cautiously, ‘simple pride could have a lot to do with their reluctance to let us help. In accepting our assistance, it could be seen that they don’t have adequate resources to do the job themselves.’

‘C’mon, Griff. Wake up and smell the roses,’ said Niven impatiently. ‘The Americans have just finished telling us that they believe the Indonesians have shot down a civilian jetliner. A Qantas 747 with a full load of passengers. They shot it down, for Christ’s sake.

Why? It’s the “why” that’s important here. As tragic as the actual crime is, we have to forget about that now and concentrate on the motive.’ Niven knew he’d hit on something fundamental.

‘Okay, I get the picture,’ said Griffin, wishing he hadn’t got it at all. He didn’t want the CDF to be right about this because of the horrendous consequences. If they shot the plane down on purpose, it could be a prelude to war.

Blight wondered what that motive could possibly be. Revenge over East Timor was the only one that came to mind, and a deep sense of foreboding filled him. The Australian actions in East Timor were not his administration’s, but he’d read the departmental papers. While the press had largely presented it as a triumph of Australian foreign policy, in truth it wasn’t a shining chapter. DIO’s brief to the Department of Defence had concluded that there could be a bloodbath if the TNI were pushed off the island before peacekeepers arrived. That advice had been ignored and, as a direct result, an unknown number of East Timorese had paid the price with their lives. The rapid deployment of Australian troops to the island had at least prevented prolonged and more widespread carnage, but it had been touch and go for a while. Could the events they were now facing have their roots in decisions made years ago? These thoughts circulated in his mind together with the image of hundreds of people falling like rag dolls through the sky to their deaths. He shuddered and forced his attention back into the room.

‘The Indonesians won’t be able to hide the crash site for long,’ continued Niven. ‘Experts tell us that if the plane exploded at high altitude, the wreckage could be spread over hundreds of square kilometres.’

‘So you think the Indonesians have already found the plane?’ said Greenway.

‘Bet on it,’ said Niven.

There was silence in the room, the calm in the centre of a cyclone.

‘So let me get this straight,’ said Sharpe with a sarcastic edge to his tone and a vague sneer on his face, ‘you think we should just march into the biggest Muslim nation in the world, a country with hundreds of thousands of men at arms, and ask them to stand aside and let us through because we don’t trust them?’

Niven smiled back sweetly. ‘Actually, yes. And all this time I thought you were slow.’

‘Fuck you, Niven.’