The Fifth Season. Kerry B Collison

interceded on their behalf. He could not lose.

      The general recognized the familiar sign as they turned onto the Cili-tan-Bogor arterial road. He examined his beret as they continued down through the Pasar Rebo intersection and turned right, arriving at the Special Forces Command Headquarters only minutes before his first visitor was expected. Praboyo barely had time to be briefed by his adjutant when the American Attaché’s arrival was announced. Colonel Carruthers was immediately ushered into Praboyo’s office.

      ‘General,’ the American saluted, then extended his hand. The Kopassus commander returned the salute, almost idly, then accepted Carruthers’ firm handshake as he examined the foreigner’s four rows of campaign ribbons, arranged in orderly rows above the man’s left breast pocket. Praboyo knew from earlier conversations that his visitor had served two tours in Vietnam, and wondered if this soldier had actually killed any enemy in combat, as he had during anti-guerrilla sweeps.

      ‘Jean sends her regards, and this small gift for Tuti.’ Carruthers spoke in Bahasa Indonesia, placing the delicately wrapped box of mints on the teak table. His secretary had organized the present as his wife Jean despised everything about this country, and would never have considered sending a gift to one of the Indonesian wives whom she found distasteful at the best of times, or at least stated so, in her correspondence to friends and relatives back in the States.

      In reality, the Attaché’s wife was unable to compete with the obvious wealth the Indonesian officers’ wives flaunted, and was irked by their natural beauty, convinced that her husband would have no hesitation leaping into bed with any of these attractive women, should the opportunity arise.

      ‘Please thank your wife, Colonel. Has she recovered from her recent illness?’

      Praboyo asked innocently. The woman had feigned ill health to avoid attending a function organized by ABRI wives, and was sighted the following morning by one of the Indonesian ladies, playing tennis at the Embassy compound.

      ‘She’s fine, thank you, General, just fine,’ Carruthers answered, then wishing he had left the damn chocolates behind.

      ‘Good,’ he said, ‘then I hope she remains so, and that we might soon see her at one of our Indonesian ladies gatherings.’ The American nodded, crossed his legs, and moved the conversation to the reason for his visit.

      ‘Speaking frankly, General, ’ he began, having rehearsed what he needed to relay to this influential officer, ‘the DIA is quite concerned with what is happening in East Java.’ For a moment, the commander expected his guest to continue, and elaborate. But when he remained silent Praboyo too decided to play this evasive game.

      ‘East Java?’ he asked, knowing full well what was on the American’s mind.

      ‘Yes, General, East Java. Washington is becoming quite agitated with these organized attacks against Christian groups and their churches. What do your intelligence sources say? Are you in a position to shed some light on what’s really happening?’

      Without hesitation, anticipating that the Americans would want some sort of explanation, Praboyo offered his prepared explanation.

      ‘Moslem radicals,’ he lied.

      ‘Are you sure?’ Carruthers wanted to be convinced. He needed something concrete to take back with him, preferably evidence that the military had no involvement in the attacks. The heat had come from church lobby groups back home claiming that humanitarian agencies had reported sightings of soldiers participating in the violence. The Defence Aid agreements between the two countries would come under scrutiny again, and the Pentagon didn’t need any more pressure from civil liberty groups, nor could the senior brass afford discovery of the covert training provided to the Indonesian Special Forces. ‘Have the police been able to come up with anything yet?’

      ‘No, but we caught two,’ Praboyo lied again. The American raised his eyebrows in surprise.

      ‘And?’ he waited, observing the Indonesian for any sign which might give the man away, but there was nothing.

      ‘They were taken to Serang and interrogated at 12 Battalion headquarters. They didn’t have a great deal to reveal, just that they were part of a local group of dissident Moslems youths who felt that the churches in their area had encroached on what has been traditionally Moslem communities.’

      Carruthers was aware that the Indonesian Government did not permit the churches to expand their congregations by attracting converts. The story was believable, and basically what he had expected to hear.

      ‘Any chance that we might have an opportunity to interview these two?’ he asked, expecting that this would be unlikely. General Praboyo smiled, and shook his head.

      ‘A D18 team conducted the interrogation.’ He paused, then crossed his arms, a gesture he would have found insulting in others. ‘Apparently, the team was a little over enthusiastic.’

      ‘They’re dead? ’ The Colonel queried, with incredulous surprise.

      ‘Yes,’ he replied, chuffed that he had handled the matter so easily . ‘We have had the local military commanders call on the Moslem religious leaders, the ulamas. All have given an undertaking that they will endeavor to prevent any further violence against the minority communities.’

      Carruthers knew then it would be futile pursuing the matter unless further incidents occurred. He seemed satisfied, then steered the conversation towards other matters relating to the U.S. Defence Aid programs responsible for funding the ongoing training of Kopassus soldiers in the United States.

      They remained in conference for another hour, after which the Defense Intelligence Agency Attaché returned to the United States Embassy where his written recommendations concerning General Praboyo were encoded, and electronically mailed to his Director in Washington. For the moment, the Indonesian President’s ambitious son-in-law would remain safe.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Jakarta – January, 1998

       The President’s daughter

      Tuti Suhapto reflected upon her marriage to Praboyo and decided that she had never really been in love with the man, and now accepted that had their union not been arranged by her dear, departed mother, then she would most probably have found another, and more caring suitor to marry.

      Tuti recalled her first meeting with the young officer, and how she had admired his proud bearing and confidence, interpreting his arrogance as bravado. It seemed that he was not to be intimidated by her surroundings, and this particularly pleased Tuti, accustomed to earlier beaus who all seemed betrayed by their nervousness whenever her parents appeared.

      Her father had served the nation as President for more than thirty years. Tuti recognized that when she first commenced dating, being a member of this select household virtually endowed her with the opportunity to select any man of her choosing. As this thought crossed her mind, she looked at the row of photographs which had been placed along the living-room shelves and frowned. In all but two of these, the handsome Javanese features evident in the elegantly framed pictures were those of her husband’s and, as Tuti’s forehead wrinkled even further, she was swept by waves of loneliness, then anger, because of Praboyo’s capricious ways and blatant indifference to her pain.

      Knowledge of his promiscuous behavior had set the Jakarta circles chattering. Even amongst her closest friends there were few who enjoyed the courage to expose Praboyo’s extra marital relationships to Tuti. This task willingly fell to her brother Timmy whom, she recalled angrily, actually relished in relaying some anecdote that was circulating, concerning her husband’s most recent conquests. Tuti had endeavored to discover the whereabouts of her husband’s current attention, but had been unsuccessful. This had only added to her frustration and anger, and the temptation to reveal Praboyo’s transgressions to the President grew daily. But