The Malacca Conspiracy (6 page)

“This map gives a better picture of our targets. To the left”—he tapped a pointer against the screen—“we have the island of Sumatra. This island is roughly the size and shape of the American state of California.

“Sumatra would give us control of the most strategic choke point in the world for the flow of oil by freighter from the Indian Ocean to the Pacific.” He pointed to the Strait of Malacca, a funnel between Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula.

“But the key to toppling Sumatra and the other seventeen thousand islands of Indonesia is to assert control of this island.” He pointed to the island just to the right of Sumatra. “Java.”

He took a sip of water.

“Roughly the size and shape of the Caribbean island of Cuba, Java is the key to Indonesia. One hundred twenty million people live here. That’s half the population of the entire nation.” Another sip of water. “And the key to Java?” He tapped again at the map. “Jakarta. The capital city. Our plan is simplistically brilliant. We will launch a coup against the government from within. We will take control of the government, and we will use money raised from our tanker attacks to purchase weapons and transform Indonesia into an Islamic superpower.”

Farouq folded his arms and surveyed his council.

“What about President Santos?” a Kuwati named Sabir asked.

“What about Enrique Santos?” Farouq asked.

“Will we kill him?”

“We have forged a strategic alliance with powerful men in the Indonesian military. These men are our brothers in the faith. And their faith, unlike the bastardized lip service to Islam that was paid by those like the traitorous Benazir Bhutto and the current Indonesian president, is unadulterated.

“They will be rewarded for their courageous leadership in this endeavor, which we have called the Malaccan Agreement. These men will be in place to carry out our strategic objectives, including the problem of the Indonesian president.”

“What will become of Santos?” another council member asked.

Farouq lit another cigarette, then took a satisfying draw. “Santos
calls
himself Islamic. Yet he sleeps with the American dogs and their president, Mack Williams.” He inhaled again and squinted his eyes. “Tell me, brother. What sayeth the Koran about the fate of infidels?”

The nicotine saturated his bloodstream, giving him an exhilarating kick, more potent and satisfying than the bland cigar he had taken from General Suparman Perkasa during their first meeting over a year ago. No one made cigarettes like the dog Americans.

“The Koran calls for death to all infidels.”

Farouq stuffed the cigarette into an ashtray. “And what are Williams and Santos?”

Even in the dimmed lighting, Sabir’s black eyes sparkled.

“They are infidels.”

Farouq nodded. “Then you have answered your own question, my friend.”

“Will the Americans not send their navy and marines to interfere? Do not they consider these sea lanes strategic to their interests?”

“Let’s say, shall we, that we have planned some distractions for the Americans.”

Chapter 4

Alexandra Hospital
Singapore

2:15 p.m.

T
he woman, her long, red hair pinned in a bun, wore the summer white uniform of a United States naval officer.

She glanced out the tinted window from the back passenger’s seat as the black Jaguar stopped in front of the white, sprawling building.

“The architecture is colonial. Beautifully landscaped, isn’t it?” The silver-haired man in the navy pinstripe sitting in the backseat beside her was engaging in peripheral chitchat.

“Yes, sir, it is,” she said, barely paying attention. The uncertainty was killing her.

“This was the old British army hospital in Singapore,” the man said. “The Brits built it in 1938. More than six hundred flower species are growing in the gardens surrounding the building. Hard to believe this was the scene of one of the bloodiest massacres of World War II.”

That riveted her attention. “What happened?”

“Battle of Singapore. 1942. The Japs came here and butchered British patients and medical staff. There’s a plaque over on the grounds commemorating it. Barbarians. Violated all the rules of civilized warfare.”

That sank in for a second. “Yes, sir. They violated all the rules of civilized warfare, just like whoever hit the Rasa Sentosa and those British tankers.” She inhaled deeply. “So we’ve come full circle.”

“After that,” the man continued, “they changed the name from the British Military Hospital, Singapore, to Alexandra Hospital.”

For a man reputed to be politically astute, good at putting others at ease, this talk was not helping unknot her stomach.

“Don’t worry,” the man went on, as if sensing he’d said the wrong thing. “I think if it was life-threatening, they would’ve taken him to Singapore General.” He took her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.”

Why did his face look so worried? Did he know something she didn’t?

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s go, Jim,” the man said.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Ambassador.” The United States Marine Corps sergeant, dressed sharply in his service dress-blue uniform, got out of the passenger’s front seat and opened the door for the United States ambassador to Singapore, the Honorable Gary Griffith. The ambassador stood, and the marine flashed him a sharp salute.

A second marine, the car’s driver, got out and opened the door for the woman. The corporal snapped to attention and snapped a salute. “Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Corporal.” The woman stepped out and returned the salute. Eight armed Singaporean police officers were lined up, four on each side, forming an armed human corridor from the car to the entrance of the hospital.

“This way, sir.” The sergeant motioned for the woman and the ambassador to follow him inside the main entrance. Just inside, a Caucasian man in a white physician’s jacket approached the ambassador with his hand extended.

“Welcome, Mr. Ambassador,” the doctor said.

“Doctor Shelton McNair, I’d like to introduce Lieutenant Commander Diane Colcernian, United States Navy.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Commander.” The doctor extended his hand. His accent was American. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Dr. McNair is chief medical officer for the US embassy here in Singapore,” Ambassador Griffith said. “I’ve asked him to personally oversee Zack’s medical care.”

“Is he okay, Doctor?”

“He’s suffering from smoke inhalation. He’s on oxygen, but I think he’ll be fine.”

“Can we see him?”

“He’s been under sedation, but sure. Why not?”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Diane said.

“My pleasure, Commander. Follow me.”

McNair led them through a back hallway to the staff elevator. They rode to the fourth floor.

“Follow me,” McNair said.

They walked past the nurses’ station to a hospital room door that was cracked open. Two voices having a slightly heated discussion poured out. One, female with a Singaporean accent. The other, Diane recognized with relief.

“But, Commander, you have not been released by your doctor,” the female voice said.

“Ma’am, I’m telling you, I’m fine. I’ve got work to do,” the male voice with a slight Southern accent retorted. “I can’t be stuffed up in here with a war going on out there. Pass me my shirt, please.”

Diane traded glances with Dr. McNair and Ambassador Griffith.

“Stay here a minute.” Dr. McNair stepped into the hospital room. He closed the door, but voices still poured under the door.

“What’s the problem, Commander?” Dr. McNair said.

“Doctor, I appreciate what you’ve done”—
cough…cough
—“but we’ve undergone attacks on two tankers and the Rasa Sentosa. All this appears to have been coordinated and”—
cough…cough
—“I work for Ambassador Griffith, and he’s going to want me on this”—
cough…cough—“ASAP…”

Diane winced. The coughing was bad.

“Oh, really? Well, Ambassador Griffith can order you to stay in bed.”

“That’s my cue.” The ambassador looked at Diane and winked. “Stay here.” Griffith stepped through the door and into the hospital room.

“Mr. Ambassador!” A surprised tone came from the Southern voice.

“What’s this I hear about my naval attaché arguing with the nurses?”

“Sir, I”…
cough, cough…
“I’ve got to get back to the Rasa Sentosa.”

“What’s the hurry, Commander?”

Cough…
“To be honest, Mr. Ambassador, I’m afraid Lieutenant Commander Colcernian may be out there. I’m worried about her, sir.”

“We’re trying to find her, Zack. In fact, I’ve got someone with me who has information that might help locate her.”

*****

“Really?”

Diane recognized her cue. She pushed the door open slightly.

The Carolina blue T-shirt hugged Zack’s trim torso, and his navy blue swim shorts revealed a rich tan on his legs. That slight cleft was still in his chin, and a small dash of gray had set into his sideburns. She melted when his green eyes met hers.

“Thank God!” He threw his arms open and jumped off the bed. Their embrace would not be denied by any doctor or ambassador.

Their lips met.

Diane traced the bulge of his muscled biceps. The kiss…it was nuclear…then suddenly shortened when he pulled away to cough again.

“Commander, please. Back to bed,” Dr. McNair said.

“That’s an order, Zack,” Ambassador Griffith followed.

“Yes, sir.” He backpedaled and plopped onto the hospital bed, but he did not relinquish Diane’s hand.

“Feeling better now, Zack?” The doctor smiled.

“What?”

“Do you feel better?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” His eyes wouldn’t relinquish their gaze on hers. Nor would his smile fade. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Good.” Dr. McNair looked at the nurse. “Let’s get some O
₂
in him, please.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Zack,” McNair said, “we’re holding you another day as a precaution against pneumonia. We’ll run tests. You should be good to go soon. Meantime, I’ll leave the three of you to visit for a while.”

“Thanks, Doc,” he said.

McNair stepped out of the room.

“Hold your head still, Commander,” said the small-framed Singaporean nurse. “The oxygen will make you feel better.”

“Sure.”

She strapped a small, clear oxygen tube to a mask and strapped it on his face. “If you’ll cooperate with us, Commander, maybe the doctor will release you soon.”

“Thanks, Nurse.”

The nurse smiled and stepped out of the room.

“So what happened?” His voice was muffled by the mask, but still audible. “You phoned from the lobby, and then…”

“I was standing in the lobby, but as soon as you told me you were by the pool, I couldn’t wait to see you, so I rushed outside. The bomb went off maybe five seconds after I stepped outside. We must’ve missed each other in the chaos.”

“Thank God you’re alive.” Zack squeezed her hand. “I hoped we could spend more time together before you shipped to the States. But now…”

Ambassador Griffith broke into a smile. “Zack,” he said, “Diane has some news for you.”

“News?” He raised a curious eyebrow. “Come on, tell me. I can’t stand surprises.”
Cough.

“Well…” She exchanged glances with the ambassador. “It turns out that you’re not the only navy JAG officer to be appointed as a naval attaché.”

“Let me guess. I’ve been fired and the ambassador is hiring you?”

“How’d you guess?” she chuckled.

“Not hard. You’re a ton prettier than me.”

“You’re right about that, Zack,” the ambassador laughed. “But you’re not getting off the hook with me that easy. Actually, my pal Ambassador Martin Stacks over in Indonesia just lost his attaché. I knew the two of you might not object to being just an hour away from each other by plane, so I recommended Diane for the job. And what do you know?”

“Really?” Zack smiled through a couple of wheezes. “Congratulations! So how far is that from here?”

The ambassador answered, “Well, Commander, that’s 561 miles by the flight of the crow, or more to the point, by the flight of the C–130.”

Zack released her hand, but not his smile. “So when do you start your new job?”

“In about fifteen minutes. We just got word of an attempted attack against the tanker
SeaRiver Baytown.
USS
Reuben James
took out the suicide boat, and they found at least two Indonesians on board.
Reuben James
is bringing the bodies into port here in Singapore. I’m going down to meet the ship.”

His smile vanished. “I’m going with you.”

“Later, Commander,” the ambassador said. “I’ll make sure Commander Colcernian apprises you of everything.”

“Aye, sir.” His voice deflated.

Diane leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “See ya soon, Zack.”

Changi Naval Base
Singapore

2:45 p.m.

T
he new Changi Naval Base, home port of the Singaporean navy, was a panoramic splash of red-and-white, as the stars and crescent moon that graced the red-and-white, broad-striped flag of the tiny republic fluttered from every ship moored in the piers, from every building facing the piers, and from flagpoles on the piers themselves.

There was one exception.

The 450-foot gray warship, which only minutes ago inched slowly alongside Pier One, flew off her fantail the red, white, and blue of the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America.

At the end of Pier One, Lieutenant Commander Diane Colcernian, in the summer white uniform of a US Navy JAG officer, stood next to a Singaporean naval officer and watched as Singaporean sailors standing on the pier tossed lines back and forth with sailors on the American warship.

Moments later, the ship’s crewmen erected a portable catwalk between the ship and the pier, then unfolded a white-and-blue banner. The banner stretched horizontally along the catwalk and proclaimed in blue lettering: USS
Reuben James
FFG-57.