“I have no concrete hypothesis. However, their level of expertise and the recent
events in the Banda Sea suggest some cabal within the Indonesian military or
government, although obviously one not supporting President Kediri.”
“Have these cells cropped up anywhere else?”
The Chinese nodded. “There are hints that they may be in place on some of the Christian islands of
the archipelago such as Timor and the Ambion group, although they do not yet
appear to be active. This hints at a possible theory about this third faction’s motivation.”
“Which is?”
“We must assume that some individual or group of individuals is attempting to
co-opt your concept of revolutionary change within the archipelago. But for
reasons of their own, they’re seeking to take events one step farther. They are not merely endeavoring to
foment the collapse of the standing Indonesian governmental structure, but they
are seeking to promote a large-scale conflict among the peoples of Indonesia,
pitting race against race and religion against religion.”
“But for what reason, Lo?”
“No doubt they pursue some goal they perceive as beneficial to their interests.
Possibly they believe that an Indonesia occupied by only a single religious or
cultural group would be easier to control than an Indonesia occupied by many. I
believe the current popular geopolitical term for this is ‘ethnic cleansing’.”
It made sense. Lan Lo did not speak unless his words made sense.
“Damn them!” Harconan’s fist exploded onto the tabletop, cracking the wood. “Whoever they are, damn them!”
“Sometimes,’’ Lo said quietly, “when one plows a field for planting, the intruding weeds grow faster than the
intended crops.”
MV Galaxy Shenandoah
2340 Hours; Zone Time; October 24, 2008
“All secure! Take her up!”
Hoist motors howled and the brick-shaped hull of the Remora lifted out of the moon pool, water cascading off her camouflaged casing. The cradle arms swung down and engulfed the Advanced SEAL Delivery Vehicle, locking it into hard dock. Grillwork decking sections swung down from the sides of the big sea lock, fitting around the secured minisub.
“Recovery completed, Captain,” the CPO bossing the hangar crew yelled up to the gangway that ran overhead. “All secure.”
“Very good, Chief. Carry on,” Amanda called back. At her side, Christine Rendino almost danced in impatience. Earlier that evening, a utility flight helicopter had lifted her out from Point Man Base to the Shenandoah. The Intel had insisted that she conduct this particular field interrogation personally.
The dogging wheel atop the minisub’s stumpy conning tower spun open. A wetsuited man, with the solidly muscular,
almost chunky build of a Navy SEAL, swung the hatch open and jackknifed out
onto the deck. Looking up to the gangway, he lifted a fist with the thumb
extended. “We got ‘em, Captain.”
Christine couldn’t wait. “Did you get them clean?”
“Clean and sweet, ma’am. We put ’em in a sleeper hold the second we got ’em underwater. They never knew what hit ’em.”
“Are they alive?”
The SEAL team leader looked slightly offended. “You wanted ’em alive. You got ’em alive. We got ’em into the sub and breathing again inside of three minutes. Doc’s put ’em on your soup as per the ops plan.”
Even as he spoke, a team of pharmacists mates were working around the Remora’s hatch, maneuvering an intravenous bag and the limp body attached to it up onto the deck where a basket stretcher awaited it.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Christine yipped with glee and slapped the gangway rail. “I love it when a plan comes together.”
Amanda gave her friend a dubious glance. “I’m still not exactly sure just what this plan all constitutes.”
“I suppose you could call it an experimental interrogation technique. If we can
make it work right, nobody’s going to know these guys have ever had their brains drained. Not even them.”
*
Idly, Malang Sengosari wondered if he was dead. Not that it mattered greatly, for he found death quite tolerable: a relaxed float in a warm, pulsing darkness to a backdrop of distant celestial music. And, as the Prophet had promised his warriors, the seventy virgins awaited him in this paradise.
So far, there had only been the one – but she was a most pleasant virgin, beautiful, naked and pliant, with fingertips like warm living silk. It boded well for his future as a dead man.
Or perhaps he wasn’t dead. For pleasurable though she was, his comely companion was not quite what he had expected as a celestial virgin. He hadn’t visualized them as being pale blue with silvery hair.
Possibly she was a sea jinni. Didn’t he recall something about being drawn down into the water? And this place he was in seemed to waver as if with the sweep of the waves. He must be a captive of the sea jinni as it was told in the sagas of the Bugi storytellers. For a lusty fellow such as himself, such captivity didn’t promise to be too onerous.
That was it. His comely companion must be a jinni. That would explain not only the odd color but the odd inflection and accent. Who could expect one of the jinn to speak Bahasa Indonesia perfectly? It would be amusing to teach her; she seemed most eager to learn.
Indulgently, he murmured answers to her childlike questions …
*
Christine Rendino, clad in a beach jacket, bright blue body makeup and a thin hazing of silver glitter pushed through the outer door of the interrogation space’s light and sound lock.
“How did it go?” she asked.
The two civilian interrogation specialists manning the biomedical console didn’t at all look like CIA agents. The man far more resembled a skinny, balding insurance salesman, while the woman had the look of a motherly, graying RN.
“Very good, Commander,” the male half of the team replied. “Even under stimulation, we were able to maintain the psychopompic dream state.
He remained disengaged but reactive throughout the interrogation sequence.”
He activated the printer unit of the lie detector and let it rasp out a long strip of hardcopy. Christine tore it loose and ran an expert’s eyes down the jagged response lines, matching Sangosari’s biological responses to the carefully phrased sequence of questions she had asked.
“He wasn’t stressing,” she said finally. “There are no fear-anger peaks and he sure didn’t seem to be fighting me in there. I’m seeing an over-all truth reaction. I’d say he was giving me the straight stuff.”
“I’d agree,” the interrogator nodded.
