Target Lock

Badung Strait 1025 Hours, Zone Time: August 20, 2008

With the PGACs deployed in an anti-small-craft screen, the task force steamed to the northeast, seeking for the open waters of the Bali Sea. The lights of the Bali coast faded to port as did those of Penida Island to starboard.

The green and red sparks of the Sutanto’s running lights trailed astern. The Indonesian warship, noteworthy in its uninvolvement in the fight at Benoa Port, had hastily sortied after the task force and resumed its shadowing. To the Sea Fighters, its presence served only to magnify the sensation of being run out of town.

Stone Quillain stared down at the untouched mug of coffee on the wardroom table. “It’s my fault, sir. I accept the responsibility for the loss of Captain Garrett.”

Reembarked aboard the Carlson, the task force’s senior command officers had immediately gone into an emergency operations group to assess their current catastrophe.

“No, cancel that, Stone.” Passing behind his chair, MacIntyre clapped the Marine lightly on the shoulder of his dust-stained uniform blouse. “It’s not a matter of anybody’s fault. We thought we had all the bases covered, but Harconan got ahead of us. I gather we all agree that the gentleman is responsible for this action.”

“Given the sophistication of the operation and the speed with which it was organized and executed, I would say almost undoubtedly,” Tran replied. His evening wear also showed the signs of his brush-busting. “To the good, this was obviously not an open attack on the officers cadre or an assassination attempt. It was a kidnapping, targeted specifically against Captain Garrett. Thus we can assume she is still alive and a hostage, no doubt with the intent of using her as a bargaining chip of some nature.”

Commander Ken Hiro, as the new Sea Fighter TACBOSS, scowled up at the inspector. “Okay, the captain’s alive and that’s great. What do we do about getting her back? Shouldn’t we be on the horn to the authorities on Bali about this?”

Tran shrugged. “That’s one of the conventional acts we can perform, Commander. However, I doubt we can expect much from that sector. As you had your evacuation route preplanned, so will Harconan. It’s questionable if Captain Garrett is even on Bali any longer. Besides, it’s apparent that any networking done with the local authorities will benefit Harconan more than us.”

“He’s right, Ken,” MacIntyre said, continuing his slow pacing path around the table. “I’ll be filing a report with the Indonesians concerning the attack on the task force. As an aspect of that, I’ll put in a request that a search be made for any U.S. personnel who might have accidentally been left behind in our rapid departure. For the moment we’ll keep Amanda’s disappearance to ourselves and we’ll work the problem ourselves. The moment we bring the governments in, theirs or ours, we’re going to lose control of this. The more red tape we get snarled up in, the more it will work in Harconan’s favor.”

“Then that brings us back to my original question, sir,” Hiro said hotly. “What do we do about getting the captain back?”

“We work the problem with our own secure assets, Commander. We count on what we can count on.” Maclntyre’s features were expressionless as he continued his slow, deliberate orbit of the table, as was his voice. Whatever he was feeling at the moment was locked within, as if he were fearful of letting it out. “We are going to find where he’s taken her, and we are going to get her back, and to hell with everything else.”

“Then, may I make a suggestion, sir?” Quillain said, looking up. “How about letting me and some of my boys pay a call on this guy’s home base, this Palau-whatever-it-is. Let’s kick a few doors down and see if we can get our hands on him. It won’t take long to get some answers. I guarantee it.”

“I doubt it would be that easy, my friend,” Tran said. “I think it may be assumed that Harconan is not going to permit himself to be available to either us or the Indonesian authorities. I would say he’d likely disappear down the same escape-and-evasion route as he intended for Captain Garrett.”

MacIntyre stopped his pacing. “Yes. He’ll be with her. Wherever they’re headed.”

“East.”

Up to that point, Christine Rendino had taken little part in the conference. She had drifted silently into the far corner of the wardroom and to the planter there, lightly caressing the leaves of the miniature palm tree with a fingertip. “It won’t be either Java or Sumatra,” she said, her voice oddly distant and detached. “Too civilized, too high a population density. It won’t be Sulawesi, either: too expected, too close to a large Bugis population. It will be off in the eastern end of the archipelago somewhere, in the wild islands.”