Rogue Element

‘Okay then. We should at least prepare ourselves for the worst.’ The PM stood up and stretched and rolled his shoulders to ease the stress. He seemed to Niven to be suddenly frail. ‘Spike, get our blokes ready. Redeploy assets as you see fit.’

There was a tentative knock on the door. A young woman poked her head in the room and, eyeballing the CDF, walked tentatively towards him. Niven recognised her and his heart skipped a beat. She was from DIGO — photo intelligence. In her hand was a mustard-coloured envelope. The envelope. The interruption silenced the room.

‘Excuse me, sir. But this was a hand-to-hand delivery,’ the woman said quietly as she nervously gave the envelope marked ‘Secret — hand-to-hand only’ to the CDF, aware that her arrival was at once disturbing yet crucial.

Niven nodded his thanks and ripped it open impatiently. The woman turned and left as Niven flipped through the contents. So soon… surely not…

He looked up ashen-faced at the Prime Minister. ‘QF-1. It’s in Sulawesi.’

The seven-four was exactly where Niven said it would be. There were quite a few photos taken in sequence, each five seconds apart. The resolution was incredible. There were bodies… He swallowed the lump in his throat. There were other photos in the stack of some kind of camp in the jungle that was burning. It was difficult to tell exactly what was going on because the tree canopy obscured much of the detail. He wasn’t sure why they had been included. He checked the latitude and longitude burned into the print and noted that it was close to the location of the 747.

Niven handed the sheaf of photos to the Prime Minister. ‘A complete analysis of this has not been done. Griff, a note here says DIGO are working on a complete work-up in concert with your people.’

‘Oh my God!’ The PM shook his head in dismay as he examined the remains of the 747 smeared across the jungle. ‘Have the Americans seen this?’ he asked.

Niven shook his head. ‘No, sir. Not yet.’

US Embassy, Canberra, 0530 Zulu, Thursday, 30 April

Blight was receiving a lesson in geopolitical realities from the US point of view and he wasn’t enjoying it. ‘What you’re suggesting could have a frightful outcome, Bill,’ said US Ambassador Herschel Zubinski as he shook his head dubiously. ‘Indonesia would need to be treated very carefully. If you provoke Jakarta into reciprocal violence, who knows how other countries like Syria, Iran and even the moderates like the Saudis might react? I’m sure the Muslim world would try and make it all appear to be some plot hatched by the West — you know how touchy these people are. Might set off something much bigger and nastier.’ The ambassador shook his head again. ‘The Joint Chiefs, Sec Def and Sec State are fully briefed as you know. And now the President himself has been brought up to speed. He’s apparently furious with the Indonesians. Nevertheless…’

The PM felt like he was being patronised. He wondered how calm the Americans would have been had citizens of theirs been on the doomed flight. ‘Mr Ambassador, the Indonesians shot down a fully loaded 747. That’s bad enough. What our intelligence people are concerned about now is why they did that. Surely that’s something your people back home would also be interested in knowing?’

Zubinski nodded. The Australian Prime Minister’s assumption was correct. They would indeed.

‘Look, Herschel, at this point we are not asking the US for anything. I’m just keeping you up to speed on our thoughts and likely intentions.’

‘Thanks, Bill, appreciate it.’

The ambassador flipped through the satellite photos again slowly, deliberately. Blight could see that he was genuinely affected by what he saw, but as a representative of the US government, there was nothing he could do about it. He was just Washington’s messenger. ‘Jesus, Bill, this is a great tragedy. But it’s a great local tragedy. As much as it hurts, I can tell you now that the United States’ first priority will be to keep this from spreading. For God’s sake, just don’t do anything of a military nature about this yet. We need more intelligence.’

Blight kept his frustration in check. America was the boss, and that was the fact Zubinski had just driven home. Nothing could be done unless the US green-lighted it. Maybe, if the chips were down, Australia could call on Washington for support, but America would weigh up its own self-interest well before siding with Australia against Indonesia.

‘Do we have these too?’ Zubinski said, waving the photos.

‘Yes, reciprocal intelligence arrangements. You know what we know.’

‘Let me talk to Washington again.’

Blight stood.

‘Thanks, Bill.’

‘Hersch.’

Blight left the ambassador’s office feeling frustrated, like a schoolboy admonished by the headmaster for something someone else had done.

Jakarta, 1005 Zulu, Thursday, 30 April