The Malacca Conspiracy (16 page)

“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, he 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.

T
he 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.

M
adina checked her watch.

Scrubbing 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.”

Yet she knew better.

It was more than just a cup of coffee.

In his dark, black eyes, she had seen the look. She knew.

Surely he had noticed hers. They had both felt electricity as their hands brushed in the kitchen and the hallway. The chemistry was undeniable.

And now he had asked her to one of the most romantic places in
Indonesia, a beautiful secluded island to view the sunset with no one else around.

The doorbell rang.

She sauntered into the foyer, passing the general’s study on the right, and opened the door.

Three Indonesian men, two middle-aged with pot bellies, and the third, who was slim and fiftyish, stood at the door. “We’re from TVRI,” the older man said, referring to the state-run Indonesian national television network, Televisi Republik Indonesia. “We have orders to bring in some broadcasting equipment to set up in General Perkasa’s study.”

“Broadcasting equipment? What kind of equipment?”

“Television cameras. Lights. You know, equipment if someone goes on television.”

“I know nothing about it,” she said. “Normally, Colonel Croon or Captain Taplus would be here to approve.”

“Colonel Croon signed the work order himself,” he said, then thrust the paperwork forward. She examined the work order. It appeared to have the colonel’s signature.

“What have we here?” A woman’s chirpy voice came from high and above. She turned and saw Kristina, the general’s lover, descending the staircase. She was in a yellow sleeveless dress, like a chirping canary, and was smiling and beaming as if she were the general’s wife.