An Air Commando SPEED Hawk sat spotted on the number two lift, the plane crew primping it through preflight. Sidewinder X air-to-air missiles were slotted onto the wingtip launch rails and its door gunners were lifting their 7.62mm Miniguns into their mounts. Nearby, a four-man Force Recon fire team stocked their MOLLE harnesses before boarding the aircraft.
Amanda lifted her hand toward the bristling array of firepower. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m going in there naked.”
The Intel glared and whispered, “That’s what you thought last time.”
“Relax, mother. The Admiral is making sure I’m well chaperoned.”
Stone Quillain and Vince Arkady emerged from around the far side of the
aircraft, flight and combat gear slung over their shoulders. “We takin’ an airplane ride or what?” the Marine inquired.
Pulau Piri “The Island of Princes”
Off the Northwestern Coast of Bali
1910 Hours; Zone Time, December 2, 2008
“What are you seeing?” Amanda keyed the headset of her cranial helmet, speaking over the howl of the turbines and the steady state roar of the slipstream.
“No situational changes on the island, ma’am,” the Air Commando systems operator replied, hunkering over his tactical access
terminal. “The Bugi schooner is continuing to pull away to the northeast. Thermographic
scans indicate only the single human-sized heat trace on the entire island. No
signal or emission activity at all.”
The SPEED Hawk had an Eagle Eye recon drone flying point for it. The RPV was already circling the target area and, so far, nothing in the way of a trick or trap had been indicated. They would know for certain shortly.
Arkady interjected over the interphone, “Traffic on the voice channel for you, Captain. It’s the Admiral.”
“Hang on, I’m coming up.” Amanda squeezed forward past the system operators station to crouch behind the pilot’s seats. Arkady looked back at her from the co-pilot’s station. “Put me through,” she said.
The aviator lifted a hand to the overhead commo panel, “You’re on with the man.”
“Gray Mare Lead to Star Child,” she said into the lip mike. “This is Garrett. Over.”
“What’s your situation, Amanda?” MacIntyre’s filtered voice came back to her.
“Everything still seems legitimate. As per Harconan’s promise, he seems to be the only person on the entire island – and, if it isn’t him, there’s no reason anyone should be there at all.”
“Christine’s still insisting that he’s got to be setting us up for something.”
“Of course he is, Elliot,” Amanda replied patiently. “But it may be a set-up we can use just as well as he can. Harconan’s revolution has been co-opted and he can’t get it back on his own. We’re trying to stave off the collapse of Indonesia and we can’t do it on our own. We each have assets in place that the other doesn’t – and a little mutual hand washing might be in order. ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend’ has been the basis of many a successful alliance.”
“Possibly. But he has got to know that, if the Kediri government survives, we’re going to have to hand him over to them in the end. He’s wanted for everything from high treason to littering. Is he eager enough for
an alliance to be suicidal about it? Especially since, in effect, he’ll be fighting for his former enemies?”
“Makara is anything but suicidal, Elliot.” Amanda couldn’t prevent the chuckle. “I can tell you right now that he doesn’t intent to be handed over to anyone. Either he’s planning to swindle some kind of a deal or he figures we’re not going to be able to hold onto him when he decides it’s time for to take his departure.”
The grunt at the other end of the circuit was noncommittal.
“Trust me on this, Elliot. Working with Harconan may be our best chance to pull
this out of the fire. In fact, it may be our only chance.”
“I don’t know, Amanda. I’m not sure this situation is salvageable, even with Harconan as an ally.
Everyone has to lose one sooner or later.”
“Maybe so, Elliot,” Amanda replied. “But I don’t intend to lose it today.”
“Very well, Captain. Carry on.”
“I’ll keep you advised, sir. This is Gray Mare, out.”
Someone rapped on the side of her helmet with a knuckle. Amanda looked up to
find Arkady pointing forward through the cockpit windscreen. “There she is.”
Ahead, the Island of the Princes was swimming away from the Balinese mainland, a green low riding shape outlined in the fiery sunset.
*
The SPEED Hawk translated back to helicopter mode and the door gunners slid open the side hatches, training the multiple barrels of their weapons outboard. Warily they circled, first the entire two-mile perimeter of the island and then the targeted landing zone at its southern rim.
In the fading light, it was just as Amanda had remembered: the snowy surf breaking over the reef line, the black sand beaches, the dense tropic forest. Pulau Piri had theoretically been a nature preserve, and the only bite in the tree cover encompassed what had been the Harconan compound.
The helipad, the seaplane hangar and ramp, the pier and boathouse, all were untouched. For the most part, the over-growth of the tropics was only in its earliest stages. But the main buildings, the sprawling, single-storey mansion, the offices, the staff quarters, all of these were gone, burned to the ground at Makara Harconan’s orders. Pulau Piri had been his island, his home and the seat of his empire. He had made sure that no other would occupy it or steal its secrets.
The big compound helo popped its landing gear and set its approach. Settling onto the paved helipad, the pilots powered back and the gunners swiveled their miniguns to cover the shadows under the forest cover.
“Set your perimeter!” Stone Quillain yelled over the fading whine of the engines.
The Force Recon team followed Quillain out of the side hatches, each Marine fully armored and armed with his personalized variant of the M-8 assault rifle. Radiating out from the helipad, they dropped behind whatever cover they could find. Intently sweeping the deepening dusk, they alternated between the naked eye, NiteBrite vision visor, and thermographic gun sights.
Minutes passed and the rotors spun down into silence. Finally, Stone rose to his feet and lifted a hand in the “stand on” gesture. Amanda disembarked and moved up to his side.
The air was sweet and salty with the blended scents of the jungle, the sea, and a faint lingering tinge of burning.
“Seems pretty much quiet,” Quillain begrudged, lowering the impressive piece of ordnance he was carrying. He’d equipped his M-8 with the extended length sniper’s barrel and a long-range night sight, his favorite snub-barreled combat shotgun module riding the lower grab rail. Full magazines were in place in both elements of the compound weapon.
Vince Arkady dropped from the cockpit door of the SPEED Hawk and came up beside them. “The Eagle Eye still reports no activity. There’s only that one contact on east beach.” He’d exchanged his flight helmet for a baseball cap and carried an FN P-90 Personal Assault Weapon balanced in one hand, spare fifty-round clips of 5.7 mm slotted into the front of his interceptor vest.
