“A formation?” Amanda’s brows knit. “Let’s see the imaging.”
“Aye aye. Putting it up.”
The main wall screen flicked between views to an overhead of a glistening azure-green ocean. A ragged formation of Indonesian Pinisi, nine vessels in all in three triple columns, appeared. Some were classic, schooner-rigged craft. Others were mastless, motorized coaster conversions with blocky deckhouses. All of them were churning toward the mouth of Singarajah harbor with a definite air of businesslike determination.
“What the hell is that all about?” Beltrain murmured.
“I’m not certain,” Amanda replied, her eyes narrowing. “Drone control, this is the captain. Can you zoom in on the first schooner in the
center column?”
In reply, the screen image centered on the designated ship, boxing and expanding until it filled the plasma screen.
It was one of the schooners, a big craft for a Pinisi. Slim-hulled, low set and rakish, its gaff sails were furled and it was running on a powerful auxiliary diesel. There was also a blue glint of polished steel at its bow and stern. A battery of heavy machineguns had been mounted and manned on its forecastle and raised quarterdeck. Men, armed men, were also clustered in the waist of the ship, assault rifles and grenade launchers apparent.
“That’s a Bugi raider,” Amanda murmured.
“Lord God Almighty,” Quillain said. “This is the limit! Don’t those folks in town have enough on their plate as it is? Now they got the damn
pirates movin’ in on them.”
Amanda shook her head. “No, only those three column leaders look to be armed vessels. Those other pinisi are just standard motor coasters. It’s like an escorted convoy …”
Amanda pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Drone control,” she said, stepping closer to the wall screen. “Maximum magnification on the quarterdeck of that lead schooner!”
Again the camera imaging scaled up and refocused, centering on the helm station of the raider and the cluster of men gathered around it. One man strikingly stood out, standing literally head and shoulders above the other Bugi. Clad in jeans and a faded safari shirt, he carried a pistol belted around his waist and he was gesticulating vigorously as if giving orders.
“Harconan,” Amanda breathed.
“What?” Beltrain looked from the screen to Amanda and back again. “You mean that’s the guy we were sent after?”
“Yep,” Stone Quillain nodded. “Sure enough. That is the gentleman in question.”
Arkady keyed his headset. “Air One, this is the CAG! Do we have a clear horizon to launch? Roger that! Arm
and spot an anti-shipping strike on the lifts. Expedite!”
Amanda whipped around. “No! Wait! Belay that order!”
The aviator looked up, a scowl on his face. “Captain, we have a clear shot at our primary target! This is the guy we were
sent here to take out!”
She lifted her hand. “I know what our orders read, Arkady, and I know this man is our target! But
right now he might be something else!”
“What are you talkin’ about, Skipper?” Stone interjected, his voice low and cautious.
The three men could see Amanda’s mind racing as she studied the plasma screen. She reached up and tapped
Harconan’s image with a fingernail. “This man is indeed our designated objective. But he’s also the solution to the mess in Singaraja and we are not going to do a damn
thing to interfere with him.” She turned back to face her officers. “Don’t you see? That’s an evacuation fleet. Harconan has come here to pull those refugees out!”
“How do you know that, Captain?” Beltrain asked.
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense at all, Dix. It’s the only reason he’d surface like this! I’ve been working this question with Chris and Admiral MacIntyre. The growing body
of evidence is that we have another faction attempting to achieve dominance in
this conflict. A bloodbath on Bali is not part of the Harconan game plan. Here’s the proof! He’s actively fighting it.”
Stone mused, “Yeah, I can see it. That big son of a bitch might be a son of a bitch but I
never figured him to be that big of a son of a bitch.”
“That’s one way to put it, Stone. And just now Harconan has the sea lift and the boots
to put on the ground to do what we can’t.”
“Well, that might resolve the Singaraja situation anyway,” Beltrain said. “At least if he can get them off before those Hindu mobs start moving in on the
port. If those pirates and the Balinese mix it up, we could still get the
blood, guts and feathers.”
“Now that’s something we can do something about.” Amanda turned to her CAG. “Arkady, we will need that strike flight of yours – but armed for riot suppression. We can take Harconan down later. For now, we’re going to give him air support!”
Singaraja Port
1250 Hours; Zone Time, October 29, 2008
The raider eased alongside the ferry pier, its engine backing with a grumble of reversing propellers. There were willing hands waiting to catch the schooner’s mooring lines, but the majority of the crowd drew back from the grim phalanx of armed men that stormed down the gangway.
“Captain Arimbi, have your men cover the streets leading in from the city – but have them stay close!” Harconan bellowed down from the quarterdeck. “Try and hold any mobs back by shooting over their heads. No killing unless you’re forced into it. And I will personally cut the throat of any man who loots!”
“Yes, raja.” The raider’s captain’s reply was prompt enough, but still somewhat bemused by the decidedly unusual
role being thrust upon him and his crew. “It will be done.”
Harconan had to agree. Those weren’t the orders a Captain Kidd or a Blackbeard would have given, but times and circumstances change.
He rested a hand on the sun-heated breech of the schooner’s .50 caliber stern mount and watched his other vessels nose into the harbor piers.
His own place in the scheme of things was changing as well, but Harconan wasn’t sure what his new position would eventually be. He had a new enemy, but he didn’t know the identity of this new foe or of his intentions and resources. He knew only that his goals were not Harconan’s own and that they must be resisted. He also knew that the fight must begin here and now.
This evacuation of the Muslim refugees from Bali was a gesture, a temporary damming of the flood of blood that his new opponent desired. But after that, what?
For the first time in his life, Makara Harconan wasn’t sure – and uncertainty was a frightening thing.
His planned implosion of the Indonesian government and state had been a comparatively simple matter. The creation of chaos is always easy when compared with the restoration of order. And now he, Harconan, must restore some semblance of order to a situation spinning wildly beyond all control.
He needed to take counsel with someone expert in the art of order. He needed to find new, uncontaminated allies. But, just as he didn’t know who his enemies were, he didn’t know who his new friends might be.
You tried to warn me, didn’t you, Amanda. You knew what I was letting out of its cage in my hubris and pride.
