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situation for the next few weeks so I want you around. Tony’ll brief you – but promise me something, son?’
    ‘Sure,’ said Mac.
    ‘Stay out of trouble, okay?’
    ‘Can do, sir,’ said Mac, following Davidson’s lead and standing. As he walked through the door, he heard Gleeson’s voice again.
    ‘Oh, McQueen?’
    Turning, Mac came face to face with the DDG, who waved the field report he’d received five minutes before.
    ‘Rule Number One for young field officers,’ said Gleeson, as he tore up the report and passed the pieces to Mac. ‘Always wait till after the DDG has kicked the crap out of you before writing your report. Over to you, Tony.’
     
    Having completed the Lok Kok report in Davidson’s office – a version that emphasised South African mercenaries and Korean duplicity – they set out shortly before 10 am and were driven into the underground security area of Parliament House, a strange-looking building that sat inside a hill in the middle of Australia’s capital.
    ‘I’m not sure about this, mate,’ said Mac as they accepted lanyards and were shown into the bowels of the building. They were heading for a meeting of the National Security Committee in Cabinet – the Prime Minister, Deputy Prime Minister, Minister for Foreign Affairs and Minister for Defence. The NSCC was briefed regularly by the peak intelligence body, the Office of National Assessments, and often the ONA briefers held experts in reserve in case the politicians wanted more detail.
    ‘Start getting real sure, real fast,’ said Davidson as they swept into an anteroom filled with intelligence analysts from ONA, Defence and Treasury. ‘Because I told John you were the best on Indon political economy – you’re standing in for Karl Berquist.’
    ‘What?!’ said Mac, still wondering what the Gleeson meeting meant for his career. ‘I’m standing in for a director?’
    ‘Yeah – and one who listens more than he talks, okay?’ said Davidson, turning to leave.
    The meeting was held on the other side of the closed doors and Mac found himself sitting in the anteroom, pondering East Timor and Indonesia. In December 1975, the Indonesian military had launched Operation Lotus, which saw elite soldiers and paratroopers invade the tiny remnant of the Portuguese empire after the local commies and non-commies had screwed up Portugal’s handover by fighting among themselves. Australia had turned a blind eye to Soeharto’s lightning raid on the territory; Catholic East Timor became the twenty-seventh province of the world’s most populous Muslim nation and was plunged into almost constant war between the local Falintil guerrillas who had taken to the hills, and the Indonesian Army, which quickly claimed all trade concessions in the province’s economy. Now, Soeharto had been gone for eighteen months, full democracy was on the horizon for South-East Asia’s largest nation and the new president, BJ Habibie, had acceeded to the Australian Prime Minister’s request to allow the East Timorese to vote for independence. The Indonesian Army had responded by creating proxy militias which were intimidating and killing pro-independence activists on the island. Looming over the whole scenario was the Asian economic crisis, which had drastically devalued the rupiah, ruined a lot of banks and plunged Indonesia into virtual bankruptcy.
    He turned to the man sitting next to him, Colonel Sandy Beech, a military intelligence officer Mac had met in England nine years ago. ‘What you up here for, mate?’ said Mac.
    ‘Fucking Timor – but they won’t ask me in there,’ Beech said, flicking his thumb at the heavy wooden door of the meeting room. ‘It’s a waste of time coming down for this.’
    ‘Why?’ said Mac, as both of them checked to see if the Treasury girl typing on a laptop was listening.
    ‘Government’s in a holding position on East Timor – doesn’t suit them right now to hear about the village clearances and the intimidation