Point Man Base
The United States Embassy, Jakarta, Indonesia
0702 Hours; Zone Time, October 24, 2008
Christine Rendino twisted and stretched, wondering muzzily for a moment just where she was.
The bedroom was dark, with daylight leaking around the perimeter of the heavy, drawn curtains. The furnishings were expensively French provincial and its soundproofing was excellent. The only noise existent beyond the purr of the air conditioning was the impatient warble issuing from one of the row of laptop computers deployed on the dressing table.
Then Christine’s mind snapped clear and she stretched once more. Switching on the bedside lamp, she slipped from under the sheet and padded barefoot across the thick velvety carpeting to her ad hoc workstation. Tapping the monitors out of screen saver mode, she checked the address of the incoming message on the PC she had dedicated as a communications unit. Satisfied, she accepted the call and keyed the webcam for audiovisual.
“Good morning, Boss Ma’am,” she caroled, sinking onto the dainty chenille-covered chair.
Amanda Garret’s image filled the screen against the backdrop of her sea cabin. “Good, morning, Chris, it took you … What in the world are you wearing?”
The Intel smugly fingered the neckline of the filmy green peignoir. “Oh, this little thing, just something the Assistant Secretary of cultural
affairs left behind when she evacuated to Australia. The ambassador assigned me
her quarters for the duration and I thought I might as well take advantage of
all the amenities.”
Amanda just shook her head.
“Just because some people don’t have a clue on how to fight a war in a civilized manner,” Christine continued loftily, crossing her legs and drawing the lacy silk around her.
“Whatever, Chris. I’m just glad I’m not making this call from the Combat Information Center. I want a sitrep on
whatever’s going on in the Banda Sea.”
Christine did a fast call up on a second laptop, verifying that nothing new had
been added to the file since she had retired three hours before. “The only answer I can give is that nobody seems to know, including the
Indonesians. Our taps into the Indonesian Defense Ministry and the Presidential
Palace are smoking, but all we’re getting is hysteria. All anybody can say for sure is that a three-ship
Indonesian naval task force carrying reinforcements to New Guinea has vanished.”
“It hasn’t disappeared, Chris,” Amanda replied grimly. “It’s been destroyed, totally wiped out. We’ve shifted a Global Hawk over the Banda Sea area and we’ve spotted a debris field. There’s nothing left but wreckage, an oil slick and a school of bloated sharks.”
The Intel’s lips pursed into a soft whistle. “I think the Morning Stars may just have won their Papuan Republic. The
Indonesian garrisons on New Guinea are barely hanging on by their fingernails
and that reinforcement group was their Old Guard, their last major reserve
formation. They don’t have anything left.”
Amanda’s brows dipped. “This is it, then? The nation killer?”
Christine shrugged. “Very close, Boss Ma’am. One more good shot and I suspect President Kediri’s government goes into Chain-Stokes respiration.”
“Damn, damn, damn! He is going to beat us!” Amanda looked off-screen for a moment, concealing emotions. After a moment, she
looked back. “How did he do it, Chris? How did Harconan take out an entire blue water task
force in the open sea? His Boghammer packs and raider schooners are good
inshore and against merchant shipping and small craft – but not for something like this! Where did he acquire this kind of fire power?”
“I simply do not have a clue,” Christine replied frankly. “It must be like his underground base at Crab’s Claw peninsula. Harconan has developed assets we never expected or imagined.”
“Could he have gotten hold of a sub somehow?”
“It’s conceivable,” the Intel replied. “Maybe he’s cut a deal with an admiral in some other South East Asian nation and he’s renting one with a mercenary crew. Or he’s picked up a flight of fighter-bombers-with–a-fast-side-of-fries and he’s staging them out of an old World War II airbase somewhere. We’ll have to start looking. All I can say for sure is that, no matter what
precautions we’ve taken with Harconan, we’ve always underestimated him …”
She paused, an odd expression crossing her features.
Amanda caught the break. “What’s the matter, Chris?”
“Unless, just possibly, we might be over-estimating him,” the Intel replied, drawing out her words.
“What do you mean?”
“Something just occurred to me, Boss Ma’am. What if we might be getting tunnel vision? What if Makara Harconan isn’t the source of all evil? ”
“I say again, Chris, what do you mean?”
“I mean that Army outfit that was taken out was literally the Indonesian Old
Guard,” Christine replied. “They were Kommando Pasukan Khusis, the Indonesian Army Special Forces. KOPASSUS
is an elite outfit with an officer and NCO cadre dedicated to Kediri and his
government. Among their other missions, they’re the dedicated presidential guard unit. That’s why the Ministry of Defense and the ABRI high command was hesitant to release
them. They are, or they were, the regime’s pet coup busters.”
“That could be significant,” Amanda agreed, warming to Christine’s suspicion. “Do you think the elimination of this specific formation could be more than the
mere fortunes of war?”
“I don’t know,” the Intel frowned. “This might take some contemplation. In the meantime, is anything going down at
the anchorage?”
“Yes. I think Harconan may be nibbling the bait. We’re being sharked.”
Christine sat up straighter. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. The question is by whom.” Amanda looked down at her keyboard and the screen image shifted to a picture of a slim-hulled, outriggered prahu, the smallest of the standard Bugi sea craft.
Perhaps thirty-five feet long, the prahu had a tent-like canvas shelter in the bow and a powerful outboard motor at the stern. Two men were aboard, one manning the motor, the other half concealed in the shadow of the bow shelter. The image of the man in the bow windowed up and filled the screen. He was peering through a powerful pair of binoculars. The tube of what might have been a telephoto camera was also propped against the gunwale beside him.
“They’ve been dancing around us for at least the last two days,” Amanda’s voice continued to issue from the laptop speakers. “They’re pretending to be one of the fishing boats from the Pulau Seribu, but we’ve drone tracked them when they’ve withdrawn at night and they’re not returning to any of the local villages. They’re laying up in an isolated cove on the island closest to our anchorage. They
could conceivably be setting up a conventional pirate boarding, but they seem
to be ignoring the other ships holding out here and focusing on us.”
Christine nodded in slow agreement. “A bulk hauler wouldn’t be a pirate’s first pick. Fa’sure those are Harconan’s personal emissaries. I’d love to have a word or two with these guys.”
“So would I.” The image of the prahu and its crew blinked off screen and Amanda reappeared. “I’ve been considering that option – but, if his scouts disappear on him, Harconan will likely assume that we’ve got him spotted and that the Shenandoah’s a set-up. He could spook on us.”
“Yes and no, maybe and maybe not,” Christine replied, looking thoughtful. “Could I get airlifted out to the ship tonight? There’s something kind of crazy I’d like to try.”
Amanda went wary. “Define ‘crazy’, Chris.”
“Crazy even for me.”
