by Dale Brown
“New pilot?” Breanna asked.
“Yeah. I’m pretty desperate,” said Mack.
“He looks pretty good,” said Breanna. “Even if he is a showoff.”
“It’s a she,” said Mack. “And actually, her looks are, uh, not exactly on the measurable chart. But she’s a helluva pilot. Why are you here?”
“I’m doing you a favor,” said Breanna. “We need to go out to a place in Kampung Ayer.”
“We? Listen Bree, I’m due back in the capital in an hour to explain to my fellow ministers of defense how aircraft that don’t exist may very well have sunk that merchant ship. I don’t have time for a boat ride.”
“I called Mark Stoner and told him about your Sukhois. He told me to go out to see someone there.”
“Stoner’s the CIA spook who’s an expert on South Asian weapons?”
“One and the same.”
The A-37 buzzed back. Mack didn’t duck this time.
“I hate show-offs,” he said, jumping out of the truck. “Especially when they’re worth watching.”
* * *
Kampung Ayer was a water village in the bay outside the capital. Buildings rose on stilts from the murky water, whose pungent odor matched its mud-red tint. Until today, Breanna had seen the lagoon city only from a distance. She stared at the people as she and Mack passed in their water taxi, amazed at how ingenious humans could be.
“There,” said the man driving the water taxi. They pulled up against a planked walkway that led to what looked like a floating trailer. Its rusting metal roof was weighted down by satellite dishes.
“You wait, right?” said Mack, pointing at him.
“I wait,” said the man.
Mack jumped up and started walking toward the house. Breanna scrambled to follow. She barely kept her balance on the bobbing boards, and had to grab Mack’s arm just as she caught up to him.
“Hey,” he said. “Watch it or we’ll fall into that sewer water.”
“Thanks, Mack.”
Mack pulled open the screen door and they walked lino what could have passed for a doctor’s waiting room. A young Malaysian sat behind the desk, paging through a magazine.
“Mark Stoner sent us,” said Breanna.
“Cheese is expecting you,” said the man, gesturing toward an open doorway to his left. “Go in”
“Cheese?” said Mack.
The only light in the room came from a large-screen TV, which was tuned to CNBC. Hunched on the floor in front of a leather couch was a man pounding a keyboard. A bottle of Beefeater gin sat next to him.
“Hello,” said Breanna.
The man put his hand out to shush them, then continued typing.
“You’re Cheese?” asked Mack.
The man picked up the Beefeater, took a swig, then held it out to them without looking away from his laptop.
“No thanks:’ said Breanna.
“I’ll pass:’ said Mack.
The man took another swig, still typing with one hand. In his thirties or early forties, he was obviously American, wearing a light blue T-shirt and a pair of cut-off jeans.
“Stoner’s people, right?” he asked, still tapping his keys. “Yes,” said Breanna.
“I want to know about some airplanes,” said Mack.
“I don’t want to know anything. Nothing. Zero.”
“Mark told me to come here,” said Breanna.
“Yeah, but I don’t know anything about it, okay? I have a Web link for you to look at in the other room,” he said. “I typed it in already. All you have to do is hit enter.”
The man typed one more thing on his laptop, then put it down and got up.
“James Milach. They call me Cheese because I made a killing in the stock market involving Kraft. No shit,” said the American. He shook Mack’s hand — then bent over and kissed Breanna’s. “Beefeater makes me formal,” he said, sweeping away into the next room.
* * *
Mack thought for sure he’d stepped into an insane asylum. Stoner was a spook, and spooks knew weird people, but this character was — a character.
But then this had been a particularly perplexing day all around. The sultan had expressed some concern about the Sukhois, but discounted Mack’s theory that they had been responsible for the attack on the merchant ship. The spy network, meanwhile, reported that there had been no activity at any of the airports on Borneo or even nearby Indonesia or Malaysia.
The Brunei navy’s pet theory was that the ship had been sabotaged by Islamic terrorists, who had placed a bomb aboard. While Mack wouldn’t rule that out, it was a convenient theory in that it kept the navy from having any responsibility. The investigation was continuing; thus far, no survivors had been found.
“You hit the button, and then you can take it from there,” said Cheese, standing over a Sun Workstation. “You got it?”
“Sure,” said Breanna. “This is the Web?”
Cheese smiled at her. “Not exactly. But you don’t want to know too much, do you?”
Mack rolled his eyes, then hit the key and bent toward the screen. Brown and black shades slowly filled the screen. It took a few moments for Mack to realize he was looking at a satellite photo of the northern part of the island, which was Malaysian territory.
“Some sort of Russian satellite,” said Breanna, pointing at the characters on the side of the screen. “You think he’s tapped into their network?”
“I don’t know,” he told her, leaning down to squint at the screen. “But that looks like the outline of a Sukhoi on what looks like a highway in the middle of nowhere. I’m going to have to look at a map but I think that’s Darvel Bay, on the eastern side of Sabah province. That whole area is just jungle. Or at least it used to be.”
Chapter 13
Dreamland
8 October 1997, (local) 1800
Dog hustled from the Dolphin shuttle helicopter that had dropped him off at Dreamland toward the black SUV waiting to ferry him over to his quarters. He was surprised to find Danny Freah behind the wheel.
“Personnel shortage?” Dog asked as he got into the passenger seat beside him.
“Wanted to have a chat.”
“Fire away,” said Dog, bracing himself.
“We had a problem with the demonstration this morning,” started Danny.
Dog listened as the captain detailed what had happened. “l’m sorry, Colonel,” said Danny as they arrived in front of the small bungalow that served as Dog’s quarters here. “I’m truly sorry”
“Well, the outcome wasn’t what we’d hoped, I agree,” said Dog. He wanted to sound philosophical without sounding as if he were making light of the situation — a tough balance. “But actually it doesn’t sound that bad. If the technical people explained about the smoke grenades, I’m sure it’ll be kept in perspective”
“We screwed up in front of a bunch of people who would like to chop off our heads,” said Danny.
“Congress doesn’t want to chop off our heads. Just our budget,” said Dog.
“Yeah.”
“It’s all right, Captain.” Dog opened the door. “I’m going to just put this stuff inside and then head back over to my office. Can you stay a minute and give me a lift?”
“Yes, sir.”
Danny’s mood was even more somber than before. Dog pulled his bag out of the truck, searching his mind for a better pep talk as he walked up the path to his quarters.
* * *
When Jennifer saw dog finally coming up the walk, she leaned against the wall, knowing she’d be just out of sight when he came in. She listened to him fumbling with the key; as the door creaked open she heard her heart thumping loudly. She hesitated a second, suddenly feeling foolish for sneaking into his apartment to surprise him.
Dog, oblivious, closed the door behind him and took a few steps into the dimly lit cottage.
“Hey,” she said, staying back by the wall rather than going to him as she’d planned.
“Jen!”
He sound
surprised, not shocked but taken off-guard, as if she were the last person in the world he’d expect here, the last person he wanted to find here.
“What are you doing?” Dog flipped on the light.
“I was surprising you,” she said.
“Great,” he said, but it sounded unconvincing to her.
“Do you want some wine?” she tried, struggling against her growing anxiety.
“I would but I have to get over to my office and then look after the congressional delegation. Maybe later, okay?”
“Oh”
“You all right?” He put his arms around her but somehow it felt forced and unnatural.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“I do have to go. I’m sorry,” he said.
Kiss me, she thought. Kiss me. But even when he did, she thought he was distracted, and she felt worse than before.
“Later?” he said, letting go of her.
She forced herself to nod. But then she added, “I may have to work.”
“Oh. Well. Try to come over.”
“I will.”
Then he turned and, without bothering to change, went back out the door.
Chapter 14
Sandakan, Malaysia (northern Borneo)
9 October 1997, 1053
The long ride across the island left Dazhou stiff and impatient, though he knew better than to show emotion, let alone physical discomfort, as he waited outside the general’s office. General Udara was inside, speaking on the telephone just loudly enough to make it clear to Dazhou that he was there; this was no doubt his intention, as the commander never lost an opportunity to demonstrate his superiority to his underlings. Finally, after he had waited for nearly twenty minutes, Dazhou was shown into the office. Udara pretended to be reading some report, making a show of frowning before looking up and pointing to the paper.
“You exceeded your authority,” said Udara.
“The Barracuda had to be tested. The target presented itself. The opportunity was taken. It coincides with our greater plans and schedule.”
“You think it is all that simple,” snapped Udara. “You think you can use the cover of events to indulge your psychological needs. We had to divert two aircraft to take the attention away from you.”
“Why?” asked Dazhou.
“The radio reports back to the Brunei air force center showed they were pursuing a craft. We could not afford discovery.”
“Which aircraft?” asked Dazhou.
“Part of our project,” said the general dismissively. “You do not need to know every detail.”
Dazhou held his tongue. He could easily guess that the general was referring to the Sukhois that had been brought three months ago to the base in the northern mountains; Dazhou had informers in the military who had told him how the planes had been purchased from the Ukrainians and then shipped in pieces and reassembled. They were necessary for the “project,” as Udara dismissively termed it, but using them to cover the Barracuda’s escape had been unnecessary. Still, he knew better than to argue with the general, who commanded all Malaysian military forces on Borneo. While Dazhou had first suggested the alliance with the terrorists to achieve their common aim, it was General Udara who had made it possible, and he wielded such power that Dazhou could not cross him.
Yet.
“I expect from the reports that the vessel worked,” said Udara.
“Precisely as predicted.”
“You are ready to proceed?”
“Upon your order.”
It was the note Udara had been waiting for. His manner changed; he smiled and leaned back in his seat.
“You are tired after your journey?” said the general.
“No.”
“Something to eat?”
“No thank you, sir.”
“How long will the sultan fend off the terrorists?”
“Without our help, the terrorists will struggle for weeks,” said Dazhou. “If we help them, the sultan and his puppet government may last twelve hours.”
Another smile. Udara rose. He took a few steps away from his desk, filling the room with pompous swagger. “The messenger is here?”
“He is.”
“Who is he?”
“I do not know.”
“The secretary said he was a child.”
“He is young, but not that young. I would say in his twenties. With these fanatics, it is difficult to say sometimes.”
“Does he have information about the connection to Afghanistan?”
“I thought it best not to interrogate him without your authority,” said Dazhou, who in truth was not in the least interested in the Islamic crazies and their network of madmen. He wanted only to eliminate the bastard sultan of Brunei, whose family had seized his ancestors’ property two generations ago, casting them into poverty. At long last, the wrong would be avenged.
“If we give the terrorists Brunei, how long do you think they will be satisfied?” the general asked.
“I do not think it would be long,” said Dazhou. “And it is irrelevant.”
“Yes,” agreed the general. “Quite irrelevant.”
Whether the terrorists would be satisfied with controlling Brunei or not, the Malaysian government would not allow the terrorists to control their neighbor for very long. On the contrary — one of the attractions of the plan was that it would allow them not only to crush the terrorists and seize oil-rich Brunei, but to receive ASEAN backing to do so. Once the sultan was kicked out and the terrorists in control, the Malaysian military would turn on its allies of convenience. Dazhou had already drawn up plans to do so.
But those operations were in the future. For now, they had to concentrate on Brunei.
Udara went back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Have our visitor fetched from the room and brought to me,” he told his assistant.
* * *
Sahurah sat on the floor of the empty room, trying to keep his mind ready. Again and again it drifted. He saw the girl he had had in Beaufort, the other in Sandakan. Beautiful, beautiful girls — temptations from the time before his commitment, sins, and yet he couldn’t banish them.
He owed the true God his complete attention, especially now, especially here on this mission. He should see himself as God’s trusted messenger — for as the imam’s emissary what else was he? And yet the impure thoughts haunted him, hungry ghosts clawing to be fed. The flesh was a terrible chain, an awesome torment. He would be better to be rid of it, gone to paradise.
He was a coward, a coward and a failure. That was the lesson of the miscarried plans on the beach. He should have shot the infidel devils the moment he saw them, rather than hesitating.
Sahurah was not exactly sure where on Borneo he had been taken. The men who rode with him in the jeep had blindfolded him three separate times, including the last hour. He guessed he was on the northern part of the island, in the Malaysian region known as Sabah, but in truth he could have been in the south or in Indonesian territory as well. He thought he had detected the scent of seawater on the breeze as he was led from the Jeep, but it had been fleeting.
A soldier opened the door and nodded at him. Sahurah got up and followed him down the hallway. They went up two flights of carpeted stairs, past walls made of polished stone with elaborate inlays. The walls had once been lined with sculpture, but the niches were now bare.
The soldier stopped and turned in front of a wide doorway lined with an elaborate molding. Inside, Sahurah found a young man at the desk. He gave Sahurah a disapproving frown, then picked up his phone.
“Go,” the man at the desk told him in Malaysian. “And be quick about it.”
Sahurah gathered his dignity and walked into the room at his most deliberate pace. He was a messenger and a representative, not to be treated without respect.
Dazhou was inside, sitting in a simple wooden chair. Behind the desk was a short, skinny man in a military uniform. He was nearly bald, his face the red color of ruby glistening in the sun. Sahurah believe
d that the man was either the army general who commanded Malaysian forces on Borneo, or one of his immediate underlings. He had seen the pictures some time ago and couldn’t remember precisely which one he was. He stared at the man now, trying to memorize his features so he could describe them later.
“You have been sent?” said the officer.
“I have been sent”
“And?”
“I was told to come,” said Sahurah.
“That’s all?”
“Perhaps you should begin by paying your respects to the general,” said Dazhou from the side.
Sahurah bowed his head. “I am not here on my own, or I would offer profound apologies.” The words came slowly at first, but as he found the formula they began to flow. “I am not worthy of the people who have sent me. They, however, are your equals, and should be treated with the respect due. As I am their representative, then I must also be accorded respect.”
“Please, little puppy, don’t lecture me,” said the general.
He glared at Sahurah. The general’s hostility stiffened Sahurah’s resolve — he was here not on his own but as the representative of his imam, of men who had the word of the Prophet deep in their soul and could pass it to others. He would not disgrace them.
“I am not here on my own,” repeated Sahurah.
* * *
Dazhou found the muslim madman’s impertinence rather amusing, though of course he did not laugh in front of Udara. The terrorist was showing commendable backbone. Of course, there was always the danger that would provoke Udara into having him bound and taken to the basement; whatever amusements that provided, it would set back their plans several years, if not derail them completely. And so he decided finally to interrupt and move things to their conclusions.
“No one is insulting your masters,” said Dazhou. “The fact that you were brought into the general’s presence rather than being shot on the street — as any rebel is apt to be — proves that the general holds them in very high esteem.”
Dazhou glanced over at Udara. The general’s cheeks were a shade of bright red, and beads of perspiration were now arranged in a row on his forehead. Dazhou decided to proceed quickly.
