The Malacca Conspiracy (30 page)

Hassan instinctively reached for the pistol grip in his holster and whipped out his nine-millimeter Beretta. “Here is your higher authority!” Hassan pointed the gun directly at the sycophant. “Your orders are to turn this plane back to Jakarta! Now! A good pilot can fly in on direct reckoning, without radar. Do it!”

“Direct reckoning is almost impossible at night,” the pilot protested. “You can’t see anything unless you’re right on top of the airport.”

“Then use your compass, you idiot,” Hassan said. “You can figure it out!”

“And if I don’t you’ll shoot me?” the pilot snarled. “Who will fly the plane?”

Hassan swung the gun to the copilot’s head. “How about if I shoot your buddy over here first?” He jammed the barrel right behind the copilot’s ear.

“Don’t turn around,” the copilot said. “Let him shoot.”

The pilot’s eyes shifted between the gun, the copilot, and Hassan.

“I must remind you that until you turn this plane around, Captain, you are disobeying a lawful order, which will subject you to court martial if and when this plane lands. Now I’m going to count to ten,” Hassan said. “And when I reach ten, I’m going to splatter your friend’s brains all over the cockpit.” The pilot’s eyes shifted even more rapidly. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

“Let him shoot…”

“Seven, eight…”

“Don’t give in to this idiot…”

“…Nine…” Hassan brought his finger to the trigger.

“Stop!” the pilot screamed. “Okay…okay…we’re turning around!”

Hassan pulled the gun back. Slightly.

“But I’m warning you, Captain Taplus,” the pilot said, as he began steering the plane back to a course approaching due west, “if and when we get this plane on the ground, I’m reporting you to the authorities.”

“Report all you want, Captain,” Hassan said. “But just remember this: General Perkasa is not going to be happy with you disobeying the lawful order of his chief assistant. Report me, and you’ll go from flying jets in the air force to driving a milk truck for the national guard. And that’s if you’re lucky.” He waved the gun in the general direction of the pilot. “Remember this too: you’ve got one hour to get this plane safely down on the ground in Jakarta. If not, you’ll need a body bag for your buddy here when we land. Am I clear?”

“You are clear, Captain.”

United States Embassy
Jakarta, Indonesia

6:45 p.m.

Z
ack had changed back into his white uniform, and stood in the corner of the heliport on the roof of the main building in the center
of the sprawling compound. He was standing with the deputy chief of mission, Bruce Laredo, along with two US Marine guards.

Evening was falling over Jakarta, and the gorgeous sight of the twilight in the tropical sky pulling a starry mask over the last hint of orange hue from the vanishing sun reminded him that more than four hours had now passed since anyone had last seen Diane alive.

The faint sound of helicopter rotors grew stronger. Zack checked his watch. Right on time. The SEALs were always on time. The thought of being joined by his navy brethren fueled the dim flicker of hope smoldering in his soul.

“How well do you know this captain?” Bruce Laredo asked.

“Real well,” Zack said.

“How so?”

“I handled a big case for him a few years ago in San Diego. A navy SEAL was accused of rape. The woman who was raped just happened to be the niece of a powerful US senator. Chairman of the Armed Services Committee, as a matter of fact.”

“Roberson Fowler? Louisiana?”

“The one and only.”

The roar of the helicopters, which had not yet come into view, was now making it difficult to hear.

“So what happened?” Laredo was now yelling over the top of the approaching roar.

“The senator wanted a conviction. Which meant that the SEALs wanted a conviction.” Zack looked over at Laredo, whose eyes were wide open in the dim lights on the helo pad. “Which meant the navy wanted a conviction. I delivered. Case closed.”

The first SH–60B Seahawk, gray in color, with the word
NAVY
painted in black along the fuselage, crested the top of the trees. The helo pad lit up like a Christmas tree. One of the marines stepped forward and made crisscrossing signals in the night sky with the long, orange fluorescent sticks in his hands.

The chopper responded, gently feathering down on the center of the pad. A second chopper appeared. Then a third. They hovered for a moment, responding to the orange glow extended from the confident arms of the marine. Within minutes, all three choppers were perched on the roof, their engines still running.

Soekarno-Hatta International Airport
Jakarta, Indonesia

6:48 p.m.

T
he blank screen flickered, then flickered again. The electronic long hand reappeared, then began sweeping the blank screen in a clockwise direction. And then, contacts! Dozens of them! They appeared all over the screen all at once!

“Chief!” The air traffic controller felt an electric excitement surge through his body. “Radar’s back up! We’re in business!”

“Mine too!” another controller shouted.

“Contacts, Chief!” a third controller blurted. “The static is gone from my headset!”

“Great work, ladies and gentlemen!” the chief exclaimed. “I’m putting you all in for a government commendation. Now let’s get these planes turned back around and get them in here!”

United States Embassy
Jakarta, Indonesia

6:49 p.m.

T
he concrete heliport was shaking, it seemed, from the ferocious wind and roaring thunder of the three engines. The marine gave a cross signal with the sticks and, one by one, the pilots shut down the engines.

The bay door opened on the chopper in the center. A tall, familiar, lean-looking figure, wearing a camouflage uniform with a black eagle stenciled on the collar, signifying the rank of a US Navy captain, stepped out. On the chest of his jacket was the black Trident symbol of an angry eagle behind an anchor, clawing a pitchfork and a pistol—the insignia of a US Navy SEAL.

All three choppers opened their doors. Lean warriors in cammies and boots, with black grease on their faces and strapping submachine guns over their shoulders, all with SEAL insignias on their chests, trampled onto the roof of the building.

Zack approached the captain and shot a smart salute. “Good to see you, sir. Welcome to Jakarta.”

“Zack!” Captain Buck Noble smiled, returning the salute. “We keep meeting in the darndest places.”

“Yes, sir.” Zack dropped his salute. “Captain Noble, this is Mr. Bruce Laredo, deputy chief of mission for the embassy. He’s in charge in the ambassador’s absence.”

“Mr. Laredo.” Captain Noble saluted the deputy ambassador.

“Welcome to the US embassy, Captain,” Laredo said.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this.” Noble motioned his head toward the SEALs still piling out of the choppers. “But I was wondering if you might find some accommodations for my men during our stay…which I hope won’t be long.”

“Certainly,” Laredo said. “Lieutenant Jones?”

“Yes, sir.” The marine with the glow-in-the dark sticks came over to where they were standing, then saluted Captain Noble, who returned it.

“Lieutenant,” Laredo said, “please lead the SEAL team down to the dining area. Get them anything they need. Water. Coke. Food. Restrooms. I’ll let you know if we need overnight bedding accommodations.”

“Aye, sir,” the marine said. He motioned the SEAL team to follow him through a rooftop door into the embassy building.

As they were entering the building, Captain Noble pulled one of them to fall out of line.

“Mr. Laredo, Zack, this is Lieutenant Commander Garcia, my XO.”

“Commander,” Zack and Laredo said.

Garcia extended his hand to Zack. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Commander Brewer. The skipper here speaks highly of you.”

“The skipper’s gracious,” Zack said.

“No, it’s true,” Noble said. “I’ve just been put on the list for admiral, Zack. If you’d lost that trial, it never would’ve happened. They would have forced me into retirement.”

“Congratulations on making the list, sir.”

“The SEALs owe you one. I owe you.” He gave Zack an affectionate slap on the back.

Laredo turned to Captain Noble. “Captain, if you and Commander Garcia will accompany me and Commander Brewer to the ambassador’s office, I believe you’ll find what you need there.”

“Please lead the way,” Captain Noble said.

Laredo led them down two flights of stairs. Three or four minutes
later, they stepped into a large hallway leading into the ambassador’s office. Ms. Kowalski, the ambassador’s assistant, was standing at the door.

“Ms. Kowalksi, this is Captain Noble of the Navy SEALs,” Laredo said.

“Please help us, Captain.” Her voice cracked. “The ambassador is a good man.”

“We’re going to try, ma’am,” Captain Noble said.

“Do we have the blueprints, Ms. Kowalski?” Laredo asked.

“They’re spread out on the ambassador’s desk.”

“Thank you.”

Zack and Captain Noble followed Bruce Laredo into the room. On the ambassador’s desk were several blueprints of a large building.

“Captain, Commanders, these drawings of the interior of Merdeka Palace are courtesy of our Dutch allies. The Dutch designed and built the palace, and Dutch engineering firms have performed maintenance projects on the building over the years.

“These papers diagram every inch of the building. From the entrances on the roof, to the power generation plants, to the data storage rooms, to the location of every electrical socket.”

Captain Noble leaned over the desk and studied the drawings. “Hmm. You speak like a man with an intel background, Mr. Laredo.”

“You pick up on that, Captain?”

“Nuances in your voice make me suspicious.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“You tell me.”

“You’re good, Captain. Interagency transfer from CIA to State Department five years ago. They want us interspersed throughout our embassies abroad. Particularly potential hotspots.”

“Okay,” Captain Noble said. “I’ll need thirty minutes here with Commander Garcia to construct an operational plan. Then we’ll need to meet with the team. Meanwhile, Mr. Laredo, I’ll need the basic floor plan reduced and copied for every one of my men. Can we make that happen?”

“Absolutely, Captain,” Laredo said. “We’ve already started working on it. Ms. Kowalksi?”

“Copies should be ready now. I’ll bring them up.”

“You’re good, Mr. Laredo.”

“No problem, Captain.”

Noble looked at Garcia. “What do you think, XO?”

“Just like we said earlier, Captain. We need to strike quickly to take their power out. Then we’ve gotta move. Looks like a power generation plant is here, and outside electrical lines are running here.” The XO pointed at various spots on the drawing. “We hit those areas with RPGs and then move quickly. We’ll need to take out their people, then do a rapid search for the ambassador and Commander Colcernian.

“And just as important, our orders are to take out General Perkasa. We may have twenty minutes max before they get organized from the outside and realize that their inside security has been taken out.”

“Agreed,” Captain Noble said. “We’ll divide into groups of three. I’ll take team one into the central section of the palace. XO, take team two into the east wing. Lieutenant Jones leads team three into the west section. We reconvene on the roof twenty minutes later and wait for our birds. From there, we fly straight to the carrier. We’ve gotta be swift, and we’ve gotta be effective.”

“Assuming we get the order from Washington to launch,” Laredo said.

“Of course,” Noble replied.

“Question,” Zack said.

“Yes, Zack.”

“Sir, remember you just said if there was ever anything you could do for me?”

“Sure thing. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to go, sir.”

A puzzled look crossed the captain’s face. “You want to go where?”

“On the mission. Diane’s in there. I want to go in with the SEAL team.”

“Are you crazy, Zack?” Captain Noble frowned. “I said I’d be glad to
help
you in any way, son. Getting you killed is not my idea of helping you.”

“Captain,” Zack said, “I’m a naval officer. I’ve taken the same oath to protect and defend the Constitution that you’ve taken, sir.” Zack’s blood was rushing. “I took that oath voluntarily, knowing that it could cost
me my life. And if this mission costs me my life, then that’s the price I’m prepared to pay.”

“But, Zack, you’re a JAG officer. You’re not trained for this mission.”

“Captain,” Zack said, “you know what great respect I have for our SEAL teams. I’ve represented the interest of the SEALs as a trial counsel. I’ve spent tons of time with you and our SEAL teams at the amphib base in Coronado. But, sir, when it comes to handling a weapon, I grew up with weapons in eastern North Carolina. I was firing a gun before I was weaned off a pacifier. I could pick off a water moccasin’s head with a rifle at a hundred yards from a boat drifting up and down the Roanoke River. Did it hundreds of times. I was firing shotguns and rifles and pistols on my granddaddy’s farm in Martin County before most of the members of your SEAL team ever thought of joining the navy. Sir, with all respect, I can hang with any members of your team when it comes to handling a weapon.”

Silence.

“I’m sure you’re good with a rifle, Zack. But it’s not just about that. There’s physical training…”

“Just ran a marathon last December when I was on leave back on Kiawah Island, South Carolina. I’m in shape, Skipper. Trust me.”

The captain and Commander Garcia stared at each other. Commander Garcia was shaking his head
no way.

“Please, sir,” Zack persisted. A desperation entered his chest. The desperation was for Diane. Whether she was dead or alive, he had to be there. He could not live with himself otherwise. “You said that if I ever needed anything. Please. Diane is in there. We don’t know what kind of shape we’ll find her in.” Their eyes locked. “She might need me.”