The Fifth Season (43 page)

‘So you believe that they are definitely heading for Australia?' Mary Jo asked, wishing she had a better understanding of the distances involved.

‘For sure,' Anne answered, ‘where else could they possibly go?' Mary Jo kicked at the dirt angrily and swore. She stared across the flat, shallow sea towards a small group of islands, her sunglasses enhancing the magnificent azure colors reflected by the warm, tropical waters. A flock of seagulls screamed nearby, clamoring over a small, torn piece of discarded silver paper carried by the outgoing tide. Mary Jo's eyes searched the horizon again, desperate for the story she believed waited out there - beyond her reach - but all she could see was a solitary, Bugis trader as it sailed past her line of sight.

Disheartened, they climbed back into the dilapidated, rusty Isuzu truck they'd hired, and instructed the driver to return to Surabaya. There was no point in remaining there. They had missed what Mary Jo believed would surely have been one of the great photo-opportunities of her career. She had not followed her instincts the afternoon before and insisted that the pilot land at Probolinggo, so she remained silent throughout the return journey.

That night Mary Jo received word that General Praboyo's tenuous grip on Bandung had further deteriorated, with General Winarko's forces consolidating their position at the provincial capital's gates. Abdul Muis'
Mufti
Muharam
were reportedly approaching from the east, determined to take the city before Winarko. Mary Jo's Jakarta source predicted that Praboyo would have no choice but to retreat to Sukabumi. The tide was turning, and Mary Jo wanted to be there when Praboyo finally went down. She went together with Anne to discuss their mission with the charter pilot.

‘Nobody in their right mind would fly you to Bandung.'
He had flatly refused.
‘Chances are, we would be shot down by Praboyo's air defence forces or
even Winarko's.'
Mary Jo had attempted to sweeten her earlier offer, flashing her roll of dollars.

‘Take us to Sukabumi, then,'
Mary Jo had pressed. The pilot shook his head at the foreign woman's obvious stupidity.

‘No, I'm not interested,' he answered her directly, in English. ‘Have you any idea what would happen if we were hit by one of the many Rapier ground-to-air missiles ringing those cities?' the former AURI pilot asked.

‘We need to get to Sukabumi,' she insisted. Mary Jo understood that ground fighting would preclude her flying back to Jakarta first, then crossing into the mountains. Her only way in was by air.

‘I could fly you to Samudera Beach. You could then travel by road to Sukabumi,' he suggested. The pilot moved to the wall-map and pointed.

‘We could fly due south from here, then follow the coast to Samudera Beach.

There is a limited landing strip there.' He looked directly at Mary Jo, his face serious. ‘But I can't wait for you, is that clear?' She did not hesitate. Mary Jo knew that she would be the only foreign journalist there - at the end.

‘That's okay,' she said, smiling at her assistant, as Anne's face crumpled into a frown.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?' Anne asked, in full agreement with the pilot. What Mary Jo proposed was extremely dangerous.

‘I'll understand if you don't come this time, Anne,' she said, placing her hand on the other's shoulder. She could see that her assistant was tempted to decline but knew what her decision would be.

‘You would not be able to get from Samudera Beach to Sukabumi without me,' Anne declared, knowing this to be fact. Besides, your
Bahasa
still needs some work.' After two years in the country, Mary Jo could converse reasonably well in the Indonesian language but still needed her assistant's presence during formal interviews and when traveling through the provinces.
Bahasa Indonesia
might very well be the national language but Mary Jo had found many pockets throughout the country where only local dialects were spoken, making her journeys even more difficult.

‘Okay, then it's settled,' she said, smiling at her unhappy assistant, then left the Cessna pilot to make the necessary arrangements for their flight.

Chapter Twenty

The Acting President's thoughts went to the recent bombing in Thailand, still not convinced that this had been the handiwork of Indonesian Moslem extremists, as the Americans had claimed. Security had been beefed up around the U.S. and British Embassies in Jakarta but Winarko had ordered this more as a gesture of compliance than out of any real concern that the
Mufti Muharam
had been responsible for the attack. The usual number of fanatics had claimed responsibility for the bombing but Abdul Muis' following had not been amongst these.

The President's forces had reached an impasse with General Praboyo's well-fortified positions in the mountains. The solution to this problem, Winarko believed, lay with Abdul Muis whose grip over East and Central Java in itself posed a formidable threat. If he could come to some arrangement with the
Mufti Muharam,
troops presently engaged in blocking his advance along the northern corridor towards Jakarta could be redeployed, giving him superior numbers over Praboyo's.

Having spent some days contemplating this conundrum, President Winarko arrived at his decision to establish a dialogue with Haji Abdul Muis in Surabaya, in a bid for more time.

* * * *

‘Tell the driver I will leave for the country, immediately after prayers,'

Muis instructed his aide.

‘Will I accompany you?' his trusted lieutenant asked, but Muis shook his head.

‘No, you should remain here. There is much to prepare before our guest returns to his own country.'

‘You will accompany bin Ladam tomorrow?' his aide wished to know.

‘Of course. We will return together.'

‘I will make the necessary arrangements,' the loyal officer promised.

Satisfied that all was in order, Abdul Muis went to his private chambers to bathe in preparation for Lohor prayers, while his aide warned the driver and immediate staff of their master's intentions. Muis had returned from Jogyakarta that morning, his hectic schedule interrupted by bin Ladam's summons. Muis had cut his visit short, driving back to accommodate the Arab who had elected to remain on at the training camp after the successful bombing of the U.S. embassy, as he was well aware that the Americans would be scouring the earth to locate the terrorist leader.

An hour later, at precisely two o'clock, Abdul Muis' Mercedes glided slowly through the heavily-guarded mansion's gates and joined the congested thoroughfare leading away from Surabaya City, before heading inland towards his rural retreat.

Before the
Mufti Muharam
leader's car had even left the city's outskirts, knowledge of his destination and itinerary had been relayed to a local number by one of his staff, who had undertaken to report Muis' movements to his friend at the Surabaya Post. Unaware that his actions might place his beloved leader's life in jeopardy, he had agreed to keep the reporter informed, promising to notify the man when Muis returned from Jogyakarta.

In turn, the well-paid informant contacted Jakarta and passed this information to the Defense Intelligence Attache at the U.S. Embassy, who had been waiting pensively, anticipating the call which his government hoped would put an end to the Muslim terror. Details of Abdul Muis'

intentions were signaled to the DIA Chief in Washington, who was on the phone within minutes, arranging for the National Security Agency to have satellites increase surveillance over the rural target.

A directive was sent immediately, and COMINT officers attached to the Imagery Requirements Subcommittee section of the NSA went into action.

They knew from intelligence data that Muis's journey would require two hours and programmed their satellites to focus on the country estate to determine any increase in activity which might signal their target's presence.

* * * *

Grim faced, the American President nodded in concurrence, the enlarged black and white photograph still in his hand.

‘When?' he asked, addressing the Joint Chiefs' Chairman.

‘We'd been waiting for confirmation of his arrival. With your order, launch could be effected immediately,' the senior officer replied, hoping the new President would not procrastinate. His predecessor had not hesitated during similar circumstances but the Chairman recalled that the other man had needed no urging to distract the public's attention from his not so private life and affairs.

‘How is it that none of our intelligence services were aware of this facility until now?' the President repeated his earlier question.

‘The complex is cleverly disguised. The small mosque set in the middle had us baffled, the reason we were satisfied that the compound was no more than a religious retreat for Abdul Muis. As for the accommodation barracks, it was not unreasonable to believe that these were there to house his own security guards and staff.'

‘Does he have family with him?' the President asked, genuinely concerned.

‘No. Muis never married.' The Admiral wished his Chief would get on with it, they were running out of time. It had been sheer luck catching Muis crossing the courtyard but, even without such solid evidence, Admiral Brown was confident of the intelligence analyst's assessments concluding that the terrorist leader had arrived from Surabaya. The subsequent satellite pass had confirmed his presence.

‘If we're sure he's there, why target the Surabaya locations?'

‘We could remove his entire leadership with simultaneous strikes. That would give President Winarko the advantage he needs.'

‘Have you informed him of the strikes?' the American leader asked.

Admiral Brown immediately glanced at the others present and hesitated.

‘No,' he answered slowly, ‘he would press us to include General Praboyo in the strike.' It was obvious that the President was uncomfortable with this situation but supported the Admiral's position.

‘Okay. Now can you guarantee minimal civilian casualties?' he asked.

‘The Surabaya targets are not in high density areas. The
Mufti
Muharam
headquarters are located in a stand-alone building, surrounded by open areas. As for Muis' private residence, our intelligence suggests that the adjacent dwellings are all occupied by his counselors and other senior advisers.' The President sensed that the Chairman had avoided the question, both men recognizing that there would be some civilian deaths, acceptable under the circumstances.

‘How do we know he won't leave his country hideaway before the strike?

‘Muis' profile indicates that he would be most unlikely to miss the late-afternoon prayers. If it was his intention to return to Surabaya, he would have already done so. No, we're certain he will be there at least until the sunset prayers are over. That gives us ninety minutes. After that, we could lose him again. We don't have much time left, Mister President,' the Admiral urged.

The President searched the faces of those gathered in the Oval Office to see if they were all in accord. Their expressions said it all - America needed to extract revenge for the Bangkok embassy bombing which had taken so many American lives. Armed with evidence of
Mufti Muharam's
complicity extracted from the captured terrorist during the failed Kuala Lumpur attempt, as Commander-in-Chief he had no choice.

‘Okay, let's do it,' he said, nodding to Admiral Brown who immediately left the room. The American President looked down at the satellite picture, the enhanced image of the turban and white flowing robes clearly that of Haji Abdul Muis crossing from his retreat, to the compound's mosque for the Lohor prayers.

* * * *

The U.S. fleet officer had anticipated the call, alerted to the potential strike when targeting and routing information had been downloaded into the missile system - while the battle group had been put on standby hours before.

‘Weapons release has been authorized by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President, John,' the familiar voice advised, setting into train the well-rehearsed routines required to ensure a successful launch. Minutes passed and the signal to launch the first cruise missiles was given by the cruiser's solemn-faced captain.

The Ticonderoga-class cruiser's crews remained silent, those who had never witnessed the spectacular event mesmerized as the first Tomahawk leapt from its vertical launcher, then climbed quickly into the sky, wings and air-scoops unfolding as the missiles own propulsion unit took over its guidance system leveling the deadly weapon at two hundred feet as it streaked towards its destination at nine hundred kilometers per hour. A second launch was initiated, then a third, the process continuing until no fewer than twenty missiles had been launched by surface ships within the battle group.

Their targets, twelve hundred kilometers south-south west, would be destroyed in just over an hour - the Tomahawks' two hundred kilo, titanium-encased warhead certain to achieve the desired results.

* * * *

Earlier, the driver had slowed as they approached the damaged, single-span, reinforced concrete bridge, then pulled to the side of the road. A recalcitrant truck driver had jumped the line and others had followed, forming a second queue, parallel to the first, blocking the shaky bridge.

Traffic in both directions had come to a standstill.

‘Go and see what's happening,' Muis had ordered. The driver left the engine and air-conditioning running and obeyed, walking down the middle of the narrow bitumen road, where an angry mob had already gathered.

Drivers and passengers had, by now, spilled from their overheated vehicles, joining in the developing altercation, shouting abuse and waving angry fists. Blows were exchanged, the crowd roaring their disapproval as the driver responsible for their predicament climbed back inside the truck's cabin and refused to budge.