by Chris Geater
“I know who you are Harry,” she said looking very serious.
“I’m behaving like a perfect gentleman, no reason to berate.”
She laughed, “Not just now you idiot, you are a gentleman at the moment, disappointing as it is. I mean why you are here and who you used to be, or work for more to the point.”
“I thought we cleared that all up the other day?” I replied with indignation.
“I’ve suspected there was more to you for a while, how you conduct yourself, how you handle fire arms, trade craft.”
“Trade craft?”
“Yes, trade craft. You know exactly what I mean. Harry Crook, ex government employee, and we both know which department.”
We sat on one end of the single bed, both facing the opposite wall. The department referred to was the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade who were responsible for our secret intelligence service known as ASIS.
“Doctors sure are a knowledgeable lot, I'm impressed,” I leaned forward. “I get the feeling that you don’t just work for environment and energy, so why don’t we quit the charade.”
Ignoring me she continued, “When I enquired about you the subsequent report read like a cold war spy resume. There’s no room in intelligence for that old style of operating, we’ve grown beyond that, like I told you, we’re more subtle, discreet.” She grinned.
Natalie became aware that Harry was no more an Occupational Safety Officer than she was Mata Hari when the Baby Eagle magically appeared in his hand and sent fairly accurate rounds in John’s direction. His awareness, casual indifference to violence, questioning, all pointed to someone with a similar background to herself. A little probing followed by a comprehensive report from a friend in the ASIS library, all names redacted of course. Even though the report painted a picture of espionage from a bygone era, it captured her attention and admiration for its tenacity and high rate of success.
One such mission occurred several years previous when Harry was stationed in Makassar, Indonesia. The nation comprises many island provinces, one of which is West Timor, an island just north west of Australia. Timor consists of two parts, West and East. West Timor belongs to the Indonesians while East Timor is an independent sovereign nation much to the Indonesian’s chagrin.
The old Portuguese colony of East Timor was no stranger to trouble and violence complements of almost a quarter-century under Indonesia’s standard land grabbing MO of brutality and bloodshed. Surprisingly the half island nation found itself independent after twenty-five years of Indonesia mentorship. Although recognised as independent, many West Timorese of the Atoni ethnicity who have been enemies with the East for centuries felt that on behalf of their Indonesian masters they should do what they could to bring together the two island parts. As a democracy, East Timor began holding elections resulting in their first President Xanana Gusmão. A few years later leading up to another election, intelligence gained through a network of locals and Australian expats revealed a plot to assassinate both the incumbent Gusmão and the potential incoming José Ramos-Horta.
Harry headed south to East Timor to confirm the intelligence and possibly neutralise the threat. Using the standard cover as a State Office Director Harry found himself in the capitol Dili, a blend of Portuguese colonialism and modern island nation. The Australian Embassy fronting onto Rua Mártires Da Patria, or Patria Martyrs Street to those non Portuguese, was run by a career bureaucrat Clarke Vermont. Clarke’s claim to fame which led to his very first ambassadorship in Timor came about due to his leadership within the Australian Peace Monitoring Group at Bougainville, Papua New Guinea during its season of unrest. Juggling Australia's interest in natural resources, large conglomerates and their even larger gold mines, locals only one generation removed from cannibalism and of course his career, young Clarke came out smelling rather sweet surprising even himself. After a brief stint in Canberra where he basked in his success the string pullers shuffled him off to East Timor as Ambassador or Mission Head.
Harry found that many of the East Timor embassy staff were experienced intelligence people with a background in defence and security. Their reliable networks were well established with fingers in many pies including West Timor. With the help of an ex ASIO officer, Bob Van Usence or 'Nuisance' as his colleagues affectionately called him, Harry discovered that the assassination rumour held sound, so he began his usual ferret run to unearth the antagonists with a view to removing the hazard. Bob had identified a local who appeared to make more trips west than his business would normally require, a one João Guerreiro Da Cruz or Jo to his friends.
Further digging revealed that Jo began life as Theodoro Gonçalves, a commissioned officer in an Indonesian backed paramilitary group during the years leading up to East Timor Independence. Jo frequented his brother-in-laws restaurant, the Warsun, most Thursday nights so Harry and Bob formed a plan. The Warsun located in a less than salubrious suburb of Dili boasted some of the most scantily dressed waitresses in town who, for a small tip would serve your food with even less apparel. Bob began to frequent the Warsun and gained a reputation as a customer who drank too much, spoke poorly of East Timor and Australia and who tipped the waitresses generously and often. It became apparent to Bob and Harry that many regular customers were connected to parties who had other ideas for the country that didn't include independence. A recalcitrant embassy official became too difficult to resist for some of Jo’s friends and they made an approach through one of the girls who was more than a mere waitress. It was common knowledge to the locals that as a married man Bob qualified for an entrapment which seemed the obvious course with blackmail the hopeful outcome.
After a few weeks the girl managed to lure a drunk Bob to a house next door to the restaurant. Under the watchful eye of several cameras she stripped him and almost succeeded in seducing him were it not for Bob quickly gaining a pre-ordained conscience and running off clothes in hand. This didn't deter the antagonists and they approached Bob with incriminating photos of his and the girls nakedness.
Bob and Harry’s plan had succeeded. Armed with a new and longer list of suspects they spent some time following a few of the more suspicious fellows that had demonstrated some leadership attitude during their approach to Bob. The more they delved the more obvious it became that Jo was indeed a crucial component in what ever the West Timorese were up to. They picked Jo up in a seconded taxi one night as he left the Warsun and took him to a rented property out of town. Over two days using a process of psychological and physical persuasion they managed to extract enough intelligence to reveal that there were indeed assassinations planned, one of which was to be carried out that very day. Sadly more detail was not forthcoming as Jo’s heart found the friendly questioning a little tiring and stopped beating.
Much of Harry and Bob’s plan didn't come under the standard operating procedures outlined in the embassy manuals and as such they wasted precious time convincing Clarke of the intelligence credibility. Finally a dozen police along with the two of them were dispatched and in the nick of time. Due to their actions the assassin missed his shot and only injured José Ramos-Horta. Unfortunately for the assassin Harry did not miss. The next day they managed to thwart the attempt on Xanana Gusmão and captured the second assassin where he was interrogated formally revealing an Indonesian backed network set up specifically to undo the democratic process.
Australia was invited shortly after to send a peace keeping force to East Timor ensuring continuity of said peace.
“I guess we were a lot less sophisticated, yet not one internal terrorism attack. You see, we did what needed to be done.”
“The old scatter gun approach, hit the target plus some innocents but no worries if you do or don’t eh Harry?”
“Not always straight forward.”
“I don’t believe it, give me an example.”
“Fine. Our techies, you know what techies are?”
“Really Harry? This is the age of techies! Our techies don't just place listening devices or
hidden cameras, that’s old school. Our team control their computers, phones, credit cards, everything, the targets can't do a thing unless we let them.”
“Whatever. Anyway, our techies placed a microphone in a certain house behind a portrait of Mao Tse Tung.”
I recalled the operation like it was yesterday, one of the more humorous in an otherwise serious industry. The organisation were hoping to render some quality intelligence from in-house conversations. Trouble was, the Chinese diplomat in question was a keen ornithologist who kept an Australian parrot in a cage that hung from a large wrought iron stand in his lounge room. A problem arose when the bird let out a squawk. The sound activated microphone would go into meltdown for about thirty or forty seconds each time there was a squawk and cut out any conversations going on in the room. Unfortunately the bird did most of its squawking whilst in company.
“You didn't kidnap the bird, please, you didn't shoot the poor thing did you?”
“What do you take us for, barbarians? After some long bureaucratic meetings with suggestions to steal the bird or replace it with a surgically modified one that couldn't squawk it was finally decided to assassinate the petulant parrot by administering poison in its water bowl while the family was out.”
Natalie’s face was in her hands, head shaking.
“When the request ended up on the Attorney General's desk he wouldn't sign it, he himself was an ardent bird watcher and refused. The head of the ASIO section kept on submitting various proposals but they were all denied because they all in some way meant harm to the bloody bird. Things came to a head when the Chinese diplomat was photographed meeting with an Australian bureaucrat who worked for the Department of Defence. The AG could no longer deny the applications importance and the techies entered the home one evening and dispatched said polly. Anyway, the clarity of the intelligence improved no end. Sadly the diplomat ended up being an innocent online gamer who only met with the defence bloke because he also was an avid gamer. The bird went down as another unsung hero in the defence of the nation.”
Natalie said something about miscreants and cowboys accompanied by unnecessary expletives.
For most of my ASIS career I operated in foreign countries where our enemy was not mindful of political correctness or breaking department rules. As the new era of terrorism slowly replaced the cold war, the only edge available often was to be as ruthless as they were or more so. Natalie was young, well trained but obviously inexperienced in the sometimes brutal and merciless field of espionage.
“What’s Section 8 doing down here anyway, we don’t have any information suggesting there are straying husbands on the station? Surely you don’t think there’s something as sordid as philandering going on do you?” she asked with a slight smile. So she did know what was going on.
I ignored her sarcasm, “Section 8 has come along way, you’d be surprised what we get up to. So tell me, have you found out who John is, was? A Chinese agent, sleeper?”
Natalie sat back and shook her head, “You’re a cunning old bugger Harry Crook, how did you guess?”
“Patterns, experience, if you survive long enough you’ll pick up a thing or two.”
An Eye roll then that eyebrow raise, “We’ve known who he was for a while now. Some moron from the Chinese embassy in Melbourne recruited him at a union meeting a few years back. He’s applied a few times for the Antarctic but we’ve vetoed his application each time, didn't want him messing around here, keep him close by and under a watchful eye. We became aware of some unusual Chinese activity last season in this region so when the accident happened with Michael he was contacted and told he had been successful as a replacement. We felt that if John was here with Zhongshan close by he might slip up, reveal what they're up to. I’ve been monitoring him but nothing much happened until his behaviour on the glacier and the clumsy attempt the other night.”
Zhongshan, Progress, the plot thickened.
“I'm not sure what you’re up to Harry but don’t get in the way of my operation. In fact I think it would be better if you weren't here,” she said with mock seriousness. “I may ask my supervisor to see if you can be extracted, better for all concerned.”
I smiled with her, “This may come as a surprise to you but most of what we do at Section 8 is under direct control of the Federal Government. Due to your political boundaries, off the books operations are prolific, Section 8 is more necessary than ever.”
“What do you mean, direct control?” she frowned.
“I’m not in a position to elaborate,” I said mysteriously. “If I do and you run to your supervisor, I’ll be blown, and that’s an unacceptable risk.”
“That sounds pretty shaky Harry, if there were other departments carrying out investigations here I would be aware of it. You forget, we are at the forefront of Australian intelligence, any government operation filters through to us.”
“Then I must be just a simple safety man here to keep everybody safe.”
Ambivalence crept across her face but then it softened, “Well, whatever you think you are, I feel safer having you here, I wouldn't have wanted to be out there on the ice facing a mad Chinese agent without you, I am grateful.” Her upturned face said ‘kiss me’ in strong terms, so I did.
Later we lay side by side, her head on my chest I asked her, “Is there a Mr Dr? I hope you’re not philandering away down here in the Antarctic?”
She laughed, “There almost was but not anymore, in fact you might know him, Jeffery Lancaster.”
Now that was a name from the past, one best forgotten but ready to surface as it did right now. Not the kind of guy I would have thought Natalie went for and it certainly cooled down our moment.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jeffery (Bert) Lancaster. Intelligence agents are required to spend some seasons in their home country, mainly to recuperate from difficult assignments but also to remind them for whom they exist in the first place. My home stint saw me mindlessly ferreting around Canberra chasing potential errant public servants whose foreign heritage tempted them into compromising security situations. One such fellow held a senior position in the Department of Natural Resources, Mines and Energy, a department that grew exponentially due to the Australian minerals boom. He immigrated from Kenya a dozen or so years prior to my interaction and was suspected of supplying his old government with Australian intellectual property surrounding open cut coal mining. This IP would then be provided to the Chinese who were busily developing Kenya into a ‘Mineral Walmart’.
China who at that time were our number one customer for the never ending supply of Australian quality low-ash coal developed a back-door policy for many of these small resource rich African nations. Providing them with cheap loans to build infrastructure for resource development these countries were indebted to China leaving them predisposed to supplying cheap coal and other minerals which undercut Australian competitiveness and damaged our industry. Many other countries saw Africa as a troubling source of instability, migration and terrorism, China saw opportunity.
Our investigation revealed a concerted effort on behalf of China to turn Kenya into a total puppet nation where not only did they have access to extremely cheap coal and iron ore but they also controlled the politics and national direction.
I was dispatched to Kenya. My overt assignment as an attaché to the Australian High Commission was simple enough. Work with the High Commission to continue to win the confidence of certain accessible government ministers and high end industry leaders. Ultimately influence them and open their eyes to the Chinese end game, encourage them to increase the price of resources so that they improve revenue and more importantly Australia remains competitive, although they didn't need to know the later. This agenda consumed the Australian High Commission in Kenya, some positive results and some not so positive. My covert assignment was more devious in nature. Identify weaknesses, addictions, improprieties or corruption to use as leverage in obtaining our goal of influence. By some, this could be considered below the mo
rals and ethics of a western nation such as ours. I consoled my conscience in the knowledge that we didn't attempt to trap people by creating tempting situations, we merely utilised weaknesses in the event they might choose to yield to their carnal nature.
Fortunately throughout the months a smorgasbord of opportunities presented themselves to us as carnality abounded. One of our High Commission attachés, a Jeffery Lancaster or Bert for obvious reasons was an old ASIS Kenyan hand with over seven years under his belt stationed in Nairobi. As my controller along with his local knowledge we accumulated a reasonable membership list of people whom we were able to coerce. Capable and confident, Bert opened doors through which I would race returning with the necessary dirt or trade deals. There were times he would close a door with no explanation, a common enough occurrence where the controller dealt with the big picture where as the man on the ground dealt only with the need-to-know. There were occasions where the opportunity seemed an obvious choice, a person in a considerably important position but Bert shut it down which led to my suspicions that he might have his own agenda. Agents who spend many years in corrupt developing countries are always tempted to carry out some nefarious ‘insider trading’, the intel was just too good not to have a bit of a flutter.
I think Bert picked up my suspicious vibes, consequently one of my meetings went south thanks to his skulduggery.
Fortuitously I saved a local by the name of Musalah from a fate worse than death one night in the not so salubrious River Road district of Nairobi near the CBD. In an attempt to follow a short bald local politician whose dark skin and clothing helped him literally disappear down an unlit street I stumbled onto a rape scene of sorts. Three large men had a smaller younger man bent over a garbage bin and were in the process of de-trousering him. One assailant, his pants already ankle bound stood willing and ready while the victim screamed and called for help.
