Chapter One - Richard Lewis

"I understand," Reed said cheerfully, knowing that aggression was the quickest
way to get a boot up his backside. "At least allow me to congratulate you and your an
outstanding job." He passed out packs of Pall Malls bought at the Hotel Indonesia
tobacconist's shop. The soldiers broke into smiles, and a few slapped Reed's back.
"And thank God for General Soeharto's swift response," Reed said.
The sergeant perked at the mention of the name. He reassessed Reed, asked for
his name and ID, and told one of his men to escort Reed onto the base, where he was
taken to the back of an operations buildings by the runway and hangers. His bag was
searched and his Nikon inspected. A Red Beret captain barked questions, who and what
and where and why. Most importantly, what did he know about General Soeharto?
Reed said, "He's saved the country, may God bless him."
The captain beamed at this answer and took Reed to an office overlooking the
airstrip. Two young soldiers stood guard at the door. The only occupant within was an
army general in combat fatigues. He sat upon a armchair, his hands dangling loose over
the ends of the arms. Fatigue marked his smooth round face, but his lidded eyes held
steady on Reed, his gaze unreadable.
The Captain saluted and introduced Reed as an international photojournalist.
Reed bowed and said it was an honor to meet to meet the General who had saved
the Republic from disaster.
General Soeharto held Reed in his gaze for a long and steady moment and then
gave a single, somber nod. Speaking softly in Indonesian, with a distinct Javanese accent,
he told Reed, "We have just exhumed the bodies of our murdered generals. The treachery
of the Communists knows no bounds. The world must know this. Captain Heru will show
you the place."
Reed bowed again, held up the camera slung around his neck and deferentially
asked if he could take a photo. General Soeharto said neither yes nor no, and so Reed
quickly framed a shot and snapped it.
Driving an army jeep, Captain Heru gave Reed the full tour, showing him the
modest officer's house where the coup leaders had stayed and, in the far corner of the
enormous complex, an even more rustic bamboo hut where PKI Chairman Aidit had hid
when it became apparent that the coup had failed, before he fled on an airplane. "We're
looking for him," Captain Heru said. He was smoking from a pack of Pall Malls, sucking
his cigarette with sharp inhalations. Flicking a butt over the side, he said, "Now we go to
the well where they threw the generals."
They rode along a track past a field for parachute landings, presently sprouting
rows of abandoned canvas tents. A kitchen mess still had kettles on hearths. "The
Communists were pretending to have paramilitary training for the Crush Malaysia
campaign," Captain Heru explained. "But now we know better, don't we?"
They came to a farming hamlet on the outskirts of the base that this morning was
marked by a heavy military presence. The well was a dry hole under a thin tree. The
well's perimeter was marked by the burial dirt that had been tamped down to hide the
bodies. In time, if left alone, the well would have done its job, hoarding its secret bones.
The sun beat hard with a harsh white light, and there still came from the hole lingering
sickly sweet odor.
"The generals were tortured," Captain Heru said.
Reed took more photos. "Were there any Gerwani at the paramilitary camp?"
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