Target Lock

Palau Piri Island 0645 Hours, Zone Time: August 20, 2008

Makara Harconan pushed aside the half-emptied cup of coffee, regretting the way he had snapped at his servant for being slow with it. It was not the fault of the kitchen staff that he had come to the lanai early for breakfast. Breaking with routine, he had elected not to do his morning run and swim around the island. The east beach and the memories it invoked were too distracting.

Early or not, Lan Lo had been waiting for him, taking his straight-spine seat across the table from the taipan.

“Mr. Harconan, the depot at the south Sabalanas was destroyed last night.”

“I know, just as were the replenishment sites at Bawean and Tana Jampea. The Americans probably got the locations of half a dozen other active hides in the Sulawesi operations area off the squadron at Adat Tanjung. They’ll be sailing from Benoa tomorrow, probably to conduct a sweep of the remaining sites.”

“Might I propose an evacuation of our assets?”

“Impossible, Bapak. If we move in a ship to evacuate our stores, American reconnaissance will backtrack it to its base and the cycle will begin again.”

“Then what is lost is lost and we must accept and rebuild. The damage to our operations will not be excessive.”

“I’m not so sure, Lo.” Abruptly, Harconan drew the coffee cup back, taking a gulp from it. “The material losses we can live with, I agree. But we’re being hit and we aren’t hitting back. This isn’t good for our people, Lo. Things have gone well for us and suddenly they aren’t.”

“The maintenance of one’s aura of invulnerability is a difficult task.”

Harconan looked up sharply at Lo. Was it conceivable that the weathered and staid Chinese was making his version of a joke?

Harconan would accept it as such. “Point well taken, Lo,” he replied, smiling wryly. “A serious problem nonetheless. My people must keep their faith with me if we’re to continue with the plan. To ensure that happens, I must keep faith with them. Have there been any reports from Jakarta concerning the people we lost in the Piskov raid?”

“No, sir, nothing from the polisi or the Defense Ministry.”

“Then if any survive, they must be held aboard the American war ships. When do they sail from Benoa?”

“Their scheduled departure time is eight-thirty tomorrow morning, sir.”

“And the port assault force I ordered assembled?”

“Two hundred and forty-five Bugis assembled and equipped, Mr. Harconan, plus small craft and demolition materials. Also, should more sophisticated actions be required, we have a twelve-man Nung Special Operations team standing by.”

“Excellent.” Harconan hesitated a moment more before committing. “Lo, we’re taking down the American task force tonight. We’re going to eliminate them as a threat, and we’re going to get our prisoners back.”

There was only a flicker in Lo’s dark eyes. “You have set yourself a formidable task, Mr. Harconan. We must assume the Americans will be prepared for diverse eventualities.”

“Very true, Lo,” Harconan replied, taking another sip of coffee and finding that he enjoyed it. As always the decision to attack, to take action, eased his tensions. “But it will only get worse if we let them get out to sea. This will be our best chance.”

“Possibly, sir.”

Harconan drained the cup. “Now, tell me this, Lo: As this will be their last night in port, are there any ceremonies or special events scheduled to take place as a farewell?”

“Yes, sir. The island governor is holding a farewell dinner and an exhibition of Balinese dance and performing arts tonight at the Taman Werdi Budaya Art Center, for the ships’ officers.”

Harconan lightly brushed his mustache in thought. “I see. And have I an invitation to this function?”

“Governor Tengarra always sends you an invitation to any such affair, sir.”

“Excellent. You may inform the governor it will be my great pleasure to attend. Please notify the helipad that I’ll want the helicopter in one hour. Have the pilot standing by as well: I think I’ll want him along on this flight. Also, notify the unit leader of our special-operations team that I want him waiting in my office when I get in.”

“As you wish, sir.” Lo hesitated for a moment, his uncertainty very unusual. “Mr. Harconan, may I state that this is a decided… gamble we will be taking?”

Harconan looked fondly at his old retainer. “What hasn’t been a gamble, Bapak? From the beginning and on to whatever the end will be, always there will be the gamble.”

“This is understood, Mr. Harconan. But there is always the degree of the gamble. In a direct confrontation with the United States Navy, you will be taking on a foe such as never before challenged.”

“A ship is a ship, Lo,” Harconan replied jovially, “and all are prizes to be taken. You know how it is with the Americans: With a bit of luck, having two of their ships attacked in an Indonesian port will set their politicians to squabbling like a pack of village dogs. We’ll be left in peace for years, or at least until their next election.”

“Possibly, sir. But might I remind you of the words of a Japanese admiral, Yamamoto, in a somewhat similar situation with the Americans.…”

Harconan sobered abruptly. “I recall, Bapak. ‘We have awakened a sleeping giant that will destroy us all.’ ”