by Don Brown
Besides, the captain was part of the general’s inner circle, and had been promised by the general that he himself would see the rank of brigadier general in the new Islamic Republic of Indonesia-becoming one of the youngest general officers in the history of the army of the Republika. But all that would depend on him continuing to do his job in a professional manner, without any glitches. The drinking and the celebration had put him behind schedule.
First order of business would be to get these liquor bottles and food trays up.
He stepped out of the study and went back into the kitchen, where he was greeted by the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of Madina’s attractive figure from the backside.
“Excuse me, Madina.”
She turned from kneading the general’s bread and smiled. “Back so soon? Want another cup?”
“Perhaps later. I need a few trash bags.”
“Certainly, Captain.” She reached into one of the cabinets below the sink. “Here’s a brand new box for you,” she said, with a smile and a wink.
“Thank you.” He took the box and quickly headed back to the study, where he removed a green trash bag from it and started dropping liquor bottles in it.
He noticed a hum coming from the computer. But the screensaver was not on. In fact, the screen was black.
“Strange,” he mumbled to himself. Maybe it was in hibernation mode. He pressed the space bar. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
The screen. The power button. He punched it. The screen came alive. In bold, black letters, THE MALACCA PLAN stared at him.
“What in the name of Allah!”
“Is everything all right, Captain?” Madina called from the kitchen.
“Yes, of course,” Taplus lied. “Just a little spill.”
“Need some help?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
The truth was, his eyes were witnessing the potential downfall of his career. Perhaps even worse. Perhaps even a court-martial for dereliction of duty.
His mind raced as he imagined the worst-case scenarios. Stripped of his command. Stripped of his rank. Perhaps even execution.
This started last night when Dr. Budi volunteered his new suggestion for the assassination of Santos. The general and others proclaimed Budi’s plan to be “brilliant.”
After toasting the doctor and his bravery and his genius, the general had ordered Captain Taplus to open the Malacca file to record the modification of the plan. No longer would Perkasa loyalists stage a military coup against Santos. Budi would do it himself. Taplus had recorded the change just as the general had ordered.
But apparently, the file had not been closed out. Under no circumstances should that file have ever been left open. This was a security breach of unforgivable magnitude. Even though the general had ordered him to open the file, he was responsible for closing it and locking it down with the proper security codes. The general might not be so understanding.
How did this happen? Taplus racked his brain, trying to retrace the events. Another toast to Budi was proposed as soon as the entry had been transcribed and read back to the members of the Alliance.
Taplus himself had stood up and turned around to raise his glass to toast the doctor. Liquor flowed. The general launched into a longwinded speech, praising the doctor and bragging about what they would do with the many millions of dollars they all now had.
The long speech was punctuated by several more toasts, Taplus recalled, all of which he was required to drink to, to the delightful merriment of the group.
Perkasa had then slapped everyone on the back, adjourned the meeting, and sent everyone home. But because the general was slurring and staggering by this point, Taplus walked with him up the stairs, guiding him, just to make sure he did not fall.
By that time, the screensaver must have come on the computer, and Taplus forgot that the top-secret file had been left open, lurking just a space bar’s tap under the screensaver.
What to do?
“Think quickly, Hassan!” Protocol required that all breaches of top secret information be reported immediately.
But had there really been any leaks of information? Who would ever know? No one had been in the house since he left.
Except…
Except Madina.
Madina? She would never go into the general’s study. Or would she? Did she not just volunteer a second ago to help him clean it up?
No way could she have seen the report. If she had, her voice would not have been so naturally flirtatious. She could not be that good of an actress. Or was this the reason she was getting so frisky? What if she was a double agent working for Santos?
He sat at the computer, closed the file, and typed in the security codes to block its access.
What the general did not know could not hurt him.
As for Madina, he would have to decide how he was going to deal with her.
Chapter 8
Paya Lebar Air Base
Singapore
8:00 a.m.
The US Navy C-130 Hercules taxied to the staging area at the end of the runway. Its four propellor engines spun in a shrill whine.
From her jump seat behind the cockpit area, Lieutenant Commander Diane Colcernian looked out the window at the rising sun, floating as a large, orange ball just inches over the horizon. A giant Royal Air Force C-17 Globemaster, the outline of its fuselage reflecting an orange tinge, was just in front of the Hercules.
“Strapped in, Commander?” the pilot’s voice squawked in her ear.
Diane pressed the Talk button. “Roger that, Lieutenant,” she said to the pilot.
“Got your life jacket, ma’am?”
“Check,” she said. “Not worried about anything, are you, Lieutenant?”
“No, ma’am,” the copilot said. “Just checklist procedures. We’ve got twenty-four hundred miles of ocean to cross. That’s more than I can drink.”
Diane smiled. “Just watched that movie Castaway on DVD last week. Great timing.”
“Hollywood.” The pilot shook his head. “We’ll be fine, Commander. I’ll bet that FedEx pilot was ex-air force. We’re navy. We’re used to flying over water. I’ve not dropped one of these birds in the ocean yet.”
“That’s comforting, Lieutenant.” She checked her watch as the engines roared louder and the C-130 rolled forward. “What’s our ETA?”
“We’re first in line after the Limey gets airborne.” Limey was a phrase that members of the US Navy sometimes affectionately used to describe members of the Royal Navy and other members of the British military. “After that,” the pilot continued, “depending on tailwinds, about four-and-a-half hours.”
Whooosshhhh. The long roar of four Pratt & Whitney turbofan jets pushed the RAF cargo jet skyward, leaving a trail of black smoke as it nosed upwards.
“Where are they headed?” Diane asked, as the big bird climbed off to the east, in the direction of the sun.
“Same place we’re going,” the pilot said. “But they’ll get there sooner. Jets versus props.”
“We’ve been cleared for takeoff,” the pilot said.
Diane sat back. A moment later, the C-130 lifted off, then banked to the left. It flew across the city, heading toward the Singapore Strait.
Down below, black oil lapped everywhere upon the once-white beaches. Hundreds of birds could be seen stuck in oil, some still alive and struggling, hundreds of others dead.
The plane crossed Sentosa Island, and over the edge of the jet-black Singapore Strait.
The Hercules banked again to the right, now headed west over the strait. Diane looked to her left at the city of Singapore with its mix of dazzling skyscrapers, colorful flowers, and swaying palm trees. Overnight, it had been transformed into the worst urban environmental disaster of the modern age.
She squinted her gaze back across Sentosa. The island was starting to disappear from view. Behind the island, back across the bay in the lush green somewhere, was the old British hospital.
Somewhere, h
e was down there. Her Zack. Handsome as a movie star with that dimple, stubborn as a mule on his granddaddy’s farm in North Carolina. Knowing him, he had gone AWOL. Part of her wished he would. She missed him already.
They’d been together at the Justice School, and in San Diego, then briefly in Washington. And now this? Was this their fate? To forever be teased with brief moments together, then to be subjected to forced separation again? Would it ever end?
The navy. She was a cruel taskmaster. A jealous lover indeed.
Perhaps one day.
She looked out again and saw that Singapore had disappeared. Now, there was nothing but water. At least it was blue water.
The plane entered a steep climb. Diane closed her eyes, pictured Zack’s rugged face, and wondered when she would see him again.
Then she remembered that she had a job to do.
Jakarta Air Base
Indonesia
8:50 a.m.
The early morning shower had waned to a muggy mist. Between the dissipating cloud cover, the sun’s rays were starting to poke through.
Captain Hassan Taplus popped down the sun visor, clicked the windshield wiper to the off position, then tapped the brake pedal. The Mercedes, bearing the flag of the army chief of staff on the front left hood and the flag of a four-star general on the right, slowed as it approached the main gate of the Jakarta Air Base.
Even after eight months on staff as the general’s driver, Hassan still relished the looks of awe on the stunned faces of members of the Indonesian military as the chief of staff’s car approached. Khaki-uniformed gate guards jumped to attention, saluting as if someone had just lit their behinds with a blowtorch.
“Atten-CHUN!”
“Atten-CHUN!”
Taplus could not suppress the smile.
“Morning, General!”
“Morning, General!”
The Mercedes cruised slowly past the guard gate and onto the premises of the air base.
Taplus glanced in his rearview mirror.
The general, in full uniform replete with his dozens of shining service medals, greeted his starstruck subordinates with a dismissive hand gesture, somewhat pompous, really, as if he were the pope. Colonel Erman Croon, Perkasa’s chief of staff, an idiot whom Taplus did not care for, simply returned their salutes.
Taplus drove on past the guards toward the terminal. The Malacca Plan was entering its next phase, and this drive to the air base was the beginning of it. The general’s mission had to succeed, and the three men in the staff car knew it.
Taplus had decided not to mention the security breach. The only person who could have seen the file was Madina. The possibility that she was a double agent continued to nag at him.
“Is my plane ready, Captain?”
“Yes, sir, General,” Taplus said, as more stiff-saluting guards waved the Mercedes through chain-link fences and onto the rain-soaked runway. The general’s 737 was already waiting on the tarmac.
Taplus drove the Mercedes onto the tarmac and stopped about twenty feet from the front of the parked aircraft. Several military officers approached the car, standing ready to assist as soon as the general got out.
“Very well, Captain, let’s review my itinerary.”
“Yes, General. Your plane is fueled and ready for takeoff. Distance to Karachi is just over thirty-four hundred miles, sir. Because of the distance, we’ve arranged for you to land and refuel at Colombo, Sri Lanka, and then straight on to Karachi. Your cruising speed will be just over five hundred miles per hour, and when we include the stop in Sri Lanka, total flight time, General, will be approximately seven-and-a-half hours. You should land at three-thirty in the afternoon, local time in Karachi.
“Our Strategic Alliance partners have arranged transportation for you and the colonel at the airport. From there, you will be taken to your hotel to rest, and then your meeting with your Pakistani contact is scheduled. For security reasons, it will take place at an undisclosed location just before sunset.
“Your contact is a high-ranking Pakistani military officer, whose objectives are like-minded to ours. He will not be in uniform but will be wearing civilian clothing.”
Taplus pulled out an envelope from the inside of his jacket pocket and handed it to the general. “Here’s an extra copy of your itinerary, sir, for your reference. I also have an extra copy for Colonel Croon.” He handed another envelope to the colonel.
“This envelope contains names of points of contact and security codes that will need to be verified by your contacts in Karachi before we can begin discussions. A code will need to match with the driver picking you up. Simply ask the driver for the code, and he will repeat it before you should go with him.
“Likewise, there is a separate code for the military officer that you will be meeting, along with a photograph of the officer and a brief bio on him.”
“And this officer has the authority to give us what we need?”
Taplus nodded. “According to our contacts in Saudi who arranged all this, he has ample authority, General.”
“Excellent,” General Perkasa said. “Colonel Croon, are you ready to fly to Pakistan?”
“Yes, General.”
“Very well,” the general said, checking his watch. “It’s almost nine o’clock. Let’s go.”
Captain Taplus stepped out of the car and motioned to one of the military aides standing at attention. “Help the general and the colonel with their bags.”
Taplus stood by the back right rear door, flashed a sharp salute, and bellowed, “Atten-CHUN!”
Perkasa stepped out of the car. The sound of clicking boots echoed across the tarmac, as once again, at least a dozen army and air force personnel jumped to attention.
Perkasa threw a salute at Taplus. “Thank you, Hassan,” he said, doing something he rarely did, calling Taplus by his first name. “Keep everything under control until I return.”
“With pleasure, General!”
Perkasa dropped the salute, and then turned and headed up the portable stairway into the 737, with Colonel Croon on his heels. The pilot stepped forward and closed the door.
Taplus got in the staff car and drove back just to the gate leading off the tarmac. From there, he watched the 737 quickly taxi to takeoff position. A moment later, the plane lifted off, and within minutes, had disappeared behind the spotty cloud cover.
He exhaled. Taplus had unfinished business, and he needed the general out of the country so that he could get on with what he needed to do.
He picked up his cell phone, and dialed the general’s residence. A familiar voice answered. “Chief of staff’s residence.”
“Hello, Madina?”
“Yes?”
“This is Hassan.”
“Who?”
“Captain Taplus.”
“Oh, Captain.” Instant glee lit her voice. “Perhaps you are ready for that second cup of coffee?”
“I have a better idea,” he said.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“And what might that be?” A sultry, suggestive tone.
“How does sunset at the beach sound?”
“That sounds like a great idea!”
“Great. Ever been to Pelangi Island?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to. I hear it’s beautiful. Clear beaches. No one around.”
“Exactly. The general’s out of town. So is the colonel. That means I’m in charge. So why don’t you leave about two o’clock and meet me at Ancol Marina at Jakarta Bay about three? We can take the general’s boat. The island is about forty-five miles out and will take an hour-and-a-half. I’ll pack dinner, complete with wine. We can ride out, watch the sunset, and return tonight. What do you say?”
Silence. Then, “I’d love to.”
“Great. Bring your swimsuit. See you at three.”
Residence of General Perkasa
Jakarta, Indonesia
11:05 a.m.
Madina checked her watch.
Scrubb
ing the toilet bowl in the downstairs bathroom had taken twice as long as usual. Thank goodness the general was out of town.
The telephone call from the handsome Captain Taplus had sent her concentration level into a tailspin. She checked her watch again. Four more hours. What to wear?
Perhaps a short, bright sundress for the boat ride to the island. She could hide behind a palm tree and change into her swimsuit once they arrived.
Or perhaps she could wear the swimsuit under a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.
But the sundress would be more feminine. And after all, he did say to “bring your swimsuit.” Not wear it, but bring it.
Now that she thought of it, it wouldn’t seem awkward for her to change behind a tree somewhere.
Yes, that was it.
He would like the sundress, she thought, and then hopefully he would like it more when she changed into the swimsuit.
What was this foolish feeling that felt like champagne bubbles floating inside her? She was like a silly teenager in love for the first time!
Perhaps they would have a military wedding. Yes, a military wedding, complete with swords and rifles. He would shine like a handsome prince in his dress uniform with all his shining medals. Her wedding gown would be long and flowing. Diamonds and rubies and precious jewels would adorn her ears and fingers.
Perhaps they would marry at sunset at Merdeka Square, with the general and other members of the Indonesian high command present.
Hassan would rise quickly in the ranks of the army. He was the best of the brightest, hand-selected to be on the general’s staff. Most likely, he himself would be a general one day. And she would be the loyal wife of a general. With elegance and grace, she would move among Indonesia’s ruling elite. Perhaps even dine with the wife of the president of the Republic. Being married to such a rising star would indeed have its advantages.
“Stop daydreaming,” she said, seemingly to no one. “You’ve had just one cup of coffee together.”