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The Signal Intelligence bay was a division of the larger Joint Intelligence Center aft and to starboard of the CIC. Its soundproofed confines were jammed with radio receivers capable of monitoring the entirety of the communications spectrum. An avalanche of words poured continuously through Sig-Int, but the workspace itself was exceptionally quiet.

The babble of voices was contained within the headphones of the hand-picked team of Bahasa-speaking Intelligence and communications specialists. The only loose noises were the purr of air conditioning and the occasional sporadic clatter of computer keys.

Captain Montgomery was a very intent young woman in army camo with dark eyes and dark hair drawn tightly back from her face. As Amanda entered her realm, Montgomery spoke without preamble. “Ma’am, we’ve encountered another very disturbing turn of events. It involves the situation on Bali but it’s taking place on Java and Sumatra.”

The Army woman reached over and punched an access key on a workstation. A voice issued from an overhead speaker. Amanda couldn’t understand the words but she could recognize the anger, the hysteria, the hatred. “Who is he? Amanda asked. “And what’s he saying?”

“This is Ishmael Muarasi,” Montgomery replied. “A very prominent Indonesian radical mullah. If you trim away the frills, he’s issuing a fatwa call for jihad against the Balinese Hindus, demanding their extermination by the faithful. This is only one of several such broadcasts.”

Montgomery pushed a series of buttons on the console. With each channel switch, the voice changed, but the hate didn’t.

Amanda frowned. “Given the circumstances on Bali, that almost had to come next.”

Montgomery shook her head. “You don’t understand, ma’am. About an hour ago, four powerful civil radio stations, two on Java and two on Sumatra, ceased conventional programming, all at essentially the same time. Then these same four stations all started to broadcast this barrage of fatwa calls, along with a steady stream of hyped atrocity stories from Bali. The key point is that all four stations are broadcasting the same exact thing. Not just the same kind of programming, but the same, exact, pre-recorded broadcasts. This is no spontaneous event. This has got to be part of a pre-planned propaganda campaign.”

Amanda’s stomach gave a lurch. “It’s a set-up?”

The Army officer nodded. “It must be. There are no specifics of time and place being mentioned in any of the fatwa broadcasts, and no coordination between the atrocity stories and any of the real-time events actually taking place on Bali. These are generic broadcasts prepared ahead of time in the expectation that the Balinese explosion was going to take place.”

“By the same people who provoked that explosion.”

“Exactly, ma’am. None of the other Indonesian national stations has even mentioned the Balinese outbreak yet. Jakarta is apparently trying to suppress the story. The stations broadcasting the fatwa traffic must be under the control of someone else with the intent of escalating the crisis in the archipelago and collapsing the Kediri government.”

Amanda Garrett’s face was immobile, but the universe twisted wildly around her, established projections and patterns exploding and reforming. There was no time for disbelief, denial or recrimination, or even to acknowledge that faint, indefinite nagging in the back of her mind that something about this scenario had been wrong from the very beginning.

Like a fencer instinctively countering an unexpected thrust by an opponent, there was only time for reaction. “Miss Montgomery, have you apprised NAVSPECFORCE Intelligence of this situation?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the army woman replied promptly. “We’re downloading to them continuously.”

“Very well. Develop a strike template for a signal suppression mission against the radio stations conducting these propaganda broadcasts. The air group commander will be on with you about this presently. Keep me informed of any further developments.”

Amanda left the Intelligence Center, heading for the stern section. As she strode down the passageway leading aft, she hammered orders into her command headset.

“Captain to Bridge!”

“Bridge, ’by.”

“Mister Beltrain, lay to your sea and anchor details. Make all preparations to get underway.”

“Aye aye, ma’am!”

“Captain to CAG.”

“This is Arkady in Air One.”

“Mission to fly, Commander. Fangs out! This is not an exercise. Get on with Montgomery in Signal Intelligence. She’ll give you the dope. Get a signal suppression strike package developed and ready to launch! Night ops! Multiple targets! Covert profile! Optimize your weapons load out for minimum collateral damage! All speed, Arkady! All speed!”

“You’ve got it, Captain,” Arkady replied crisply.

“Captain to Communications!”

“Communications, aye.”

“Set up a conference call in my quarters. I need to speak with Commander Rendino at Point Man Base immediately. Then get through to Admiral MacIntyre’s Chief of Staff and tell him that it’s imperative I speak with the Admiral as soon as possible.”

*

Both of the laptops on her cabin desk were active and networked into the ship’s systems. The NAVSPECFORCE test pattern filled the screen of one, while a harried Christine Rendino peered from the other. In the background of the webcam image, Amanda could see the Intelligence team working their ad hoc operations room. Sidearms were being worn and body armor, helmets and carbines were stacked ready at hand on the desktops.

“Chris, what’s the situation in Jakarta?” Amanda inquired.

“Quiet so far, but nobody knows how long it will last,” the Intel replied. “The city is on full lockdown. A twilight curfew has been declared and there’s a heavy police and army presence in the streets. The word’s spreading about the Bali massacres and the locals are getting pissed. They’re not exactly sure who they’re going to be pissed at yet, but they are considering their options. ”

“What’s the embassy status?”

“We’re on full lockdown with FAST Marines on the walls,” the Intel replied. “Other than the Australians, we’re the last foreign embassy left in the capital and the Aussie ambassador and his skeleton staff are forted up with us. We’re acting as the collection point for the remaining international community in Jakarta and our Marines have been escorting evacuee convoys out to the airport all afternoon. We’re also seeing another disturbing trend developing. Members of the Balinese Hindu community here in Jakarta are starting to show up, asking for protection from mob violence. They don’t trust the Muslim authorities.”

“What’s Ambassador Goodyard doing?”

“He’s granting it, along with generally kicking ass and taking names. He’s made it clear that he intends to stick ’till the last cat in the alley’s dead. Foggy Bottom can be proud.”

Amanda half smiled, “It sounds like he’s matured a bit since our last run in with him.”

“He’s learning the ropes, Boss Ma’am,” Christine agreed.

“What are you getting from the Kediri government?”

Are sens

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