Target Lock

Palau Piri Island, Indonesia Off the Northwestern Tip of Bali 0614 Hours, Zone Time: July 29, 2008

Makara Harconan began his morning ritualistically with a double circumnavigation of his island. Clad in swim trunks, he alternated between a run along its lava sand beaches and a fast swim parallel to its shore, hardening his well-muscled body and clearing his mind for the work ahead.

It also provided him the opportunity to personally check on the security posts covering the far side approaches and to verify that his roving patrols were on the move and alert. Only a single mistake could be made in covering one’s back, the first that is also the last. Harconan did not intend to make that one error.

A cold and stinging shower followed his run and swim, then a session with his personal masseuse. Finally, after donning slacks, sandals, and a safari shirt, he retired to the central garden patio of the mansion for a simple meal of rice, fresh fruit, and strong Javanese coffee.

As he ate, Mr. Lo sat across the table from him, a cup of green tea centered untouched before him. The latter was an insistence of Harconan’s, a symbol of a battle of wills with his aide-de-camp over the subject of La’s joining him for breakfast. Lan Lo, a staunch traditionalist, considered such familiarity in the presence of his employer decidedly improper.

In accordance with the morning ritual, following the withdrawal of the serving maid, none of the staff would approach the breakfast table unless summoned. Even the interior security man held well back out of earshot, monitoring the operation of the integral bug scanners and ultra sonic white-noise jammers that rendered the inner garden secure.

“And what is our first point of consideration today, Lo?” Harconan inquired.

“There are a series of developments in the satellite project, sir. Primarily positive, but including one point of possible concern.”

“Proceed.”

“We have received favorable responses from the Falaud Group, from Yan Song international and from the Marutt-Goa Combine. Each has put forward the necessary commitment money, shifting five million U.S. dollars or a pound sterling equivalency into our secured accounts in Zurich and Bahrain. Each client also has an R&D team standing by for deployment to the holding site.

“The Mittel Europa Group has declined direct involvement but has placed an initial bid of one million sterling for certain castings and alloy samples from the satellite payload. The Japanese Genom zaibatsu also declines direct involvement but has offered a bid of two million dollars for the satellite’s full run of orbital-grade ball bearings. Moskva-Grevitch continues to declare an interest but demands we present further specifications on the involved systems before making a monetary commitment;”

Lo made no reference to notes or other documentation during his quiet-voiced recital. Not only did he not require such props, but none of Harconan’s “special consideration” business was ever committed to hard copy.

Harconan was not displeased with the report. He’d had his doubts about the Poles and Czechs making a full commitment. Too many strong economic ties with the U.S., and they were trying for their full membership in the European Union this year. The Japanese weren’t risk-takers either. and the Russian corporates still lacked the monetary muscle to play out in the deep waters. Still, three out of the six was sufficient.

Harconan freshened the coffee in his cup. “You may tell Falaud, Yan Song, and Marutt to dispatch their teams. Inquire about any special equipment they may desire and arrange for their reception and transportation to the holding site. For Mittel Europa, hold out for at least another half million. They’re good for it. Accept the Genom offer as it stands.

“As for the Russians, as usual, they’re trying to get something for nothing. Tell them we have shown them adequate bona fides; we have a property of value equal to what we are asking. They have our terms. They remain fixed. They can either accept them or not.”

Lo inclined his head. “Very good, sir. I concur on all points. This now brings us to our point of concern.”

“Which is?”

“A possible… radical reaction by the United States to our acquisition of their industrial satellite.”

“Radical, Lo?”

Lan Lo’s old ivory features assumed the total neutrality he reserved for what he felt were truly critical matters “Our business agent in Port Said reports a U.S. naval task force passed through the Suez Canal last night on a priority scheduling. Although only two vessels were involved, both were powerful special operations units and both were proceeding eastbound into the Indian Ocean. No eventual port of destination was listed with either the canal authorities or the Egyptian government.

“By accessing various naval affairs sites on the global Internet, we have learned this was not a planned redeployment. These vessels were scheduled to remain in the Mediterranean for at least another two months. An examination of affairs within the Indian Ocean basin and Pacific Rim indicates no other difficulty involving U.S. interests that would warrant such a sudden shifting of military power at this time. My presumption would be that this is a reactive event targeted against our operations.”

Harconan nodded slowly, taking a sip from the potent black brew in his cup. “What about our contacts in Singapore and Jakarta, Lo? What do they have on U.S. naval intentions?”

“They have nothing, sir,” the Chinese executive replied. “Which leads me to two other possible presumptions. Firstly, that my presumption is wrong and that the Americans are bound elsewhere for other duties, or…”

Harconan’s dark eyes narrowed. “… or they have grown frustrated with the applied ineffectualism of the Indonesian government over their lost satellite and they intend to take matters into their own hands.”

“Quite so, sir. A definite point of concern.”

“That depends, Lo. That depends greatly on who they’ve sent out to hunt us.”

“Yet another point of concern, sir. The involved units constitute what is called the Sea Fighter Task Force by the American navy. They are specialists in small craft and coastal operations and are held responsible for the successful United Nations resolution of the Guinea-West African Union conflict of last year. I have briefly discussed this task force with our people knowledgeable in military affairs. They assure me it is most formidable in its capabilities. Likewise in its leadership.”

Harconan slowly lifted his cup to his lips again, his eyes set in the middle distance but his internal vision focused elsewhere. Things read: articles in popular magazines and international military journals. Things heard: whispered stories told by government officials in Taipei and Singapore. Things seen: a global-net television broadcast from the UN General Assembly and a striking amber-haired woman in a naval officer’s uniform, speaking with a quiet and level-eyed conviction.

“Captain Amanda Lee Garrett,” he said softly.

“Indeed, sir. A very definite point of concern.”