Target Lock

Palau Piri Island, Indonesia Off the Northwestern Tip of Bali 0131 Hours, Zone Time: July 9, 2008

A classic Indonesian rijsttafel had been held at House Harconan for the new U.S. ambassador to Indonesia, honoring his first visit to Bali. Ambassador Randolph Goodyard and his wife had been introduced to the savory and exotic pleasures of the Indonesian “rice table” and to a select cadre of Indonesian movers and shakers, both courtesy of Makara Harconan.

Several hours of good conversation and excellent brandy had followed on the broad beachfront lanai of the sprawling single-story mansion. Eventually, however, group by small group, the guests had departed, borne back through the night to the Bali mainland. The majority was transported by a small flotilla of expensive motor yachts standing by at the estate pier, a select handful by the helicopters spotted on the commodious private helipad. Finally only the guests of honor and the host lingered.

Ambassador Goodyard lifted his glass in a final salute. “Mr. Harconan, my wife and I would like to thank you for a most entertaining evening, If this is the kind of hospitality l can look forward to, my tour here in the Far East will be most pleasantly memorable.”

Harconan tilted his head in mild self-effacement. “It was my pleasure having you honor my home, Mr. Ambassador. I hope your time with us will be both enjoyable for you and productive for your nation and mine.”

Although an Indonesian citizen, Makara Harconan was a man of many worlds. The multimillionaire trader and commodities broker was tall, with the tapering broad-shouldered solidity of his Dutch father. Yet, his dark and angular handsome features held the exotic kiss of his Asian mother’s blood as well. Born in Jakarta, he had chosen the island of Bali as a suitable base of operations for the growing business empire of a twenty-first-century taipan.

Harconan was a formidable individual and potentially both a valuable ally and a resource worth cultivating. Goodyard, a canny yet internationally inexperienced former governor from Nebraska, recognized this fact full well and had taken the opportunity to pump the trader on the local political and economic environment. Harconan in turn had been both forthcoming and helpful with his replies.

Now, at the tag end of the evening, there was one final question.

“Mr. Harconan, in your opinion, if one word could be used to sum up what I could expect from this part of the world, what would it be?”

Harconan frowned and lightly stroked his pencil-line moustache, a long-standing habit when he was in thought. For a long moment he considered the answer.

“Contrasts, Mr. Ambassador,” he replied finally. “In dealing with Indonesia, one must expect remarkable contrasts at all times.”

Rising from his rattan chair, he gestured westward toward the looming mountains and scattered coastal lights beyond the Bali strait. “There you have Java, the island with the highest population density on the planet. Yet, a comparatively few sea or air miles from here, you will find other islands where not a soul dwells and where one can still find ground that no other human foot has ever rested upon.

“Jakarta, the city where you have your embassy, is one of the most modern and sophisticated cosmopolitan areas in the world. Yet at the other end of the archipelago, you have lrian Jaya — New Guinea, as you would know it — where the Stone Age is still very much a going concern.

“To the northeast you have the oil sultanate of Brunei, possibly the richest nation on the face of the earth. Yet crushing poverty is also common. There are more followers of Islam in Indonesia than there are in all of the Mideast. Yet here also dwells the largest body of Hindus outside of India, while other islands have almost entirely been converted to the Christian faith. And over all, ancient tribal sorcery and animist beliefs linger on.

“Indonesia has the world’s fourth-largest population. Yet it is a population broken down into over three hundred separate and distinct cultures, speaking over two hundred and fifty different languages, rendering any kind of true single national identity a dream held only in Jakarta.

“You will find piercing beauty everywhere, yet also great ugliness. Kindness and joy abound, as do anger and hatred. Here is diversity beyond anything you have ever imagined, Mr. Ambassador, and always in vivid contrasts.”

Goodyard frowned, his expression indicating his sudden surge of homesickness for the simplicity of Lincoln. “It’s going to be a challenge,” he said, setting down his glass.

Harconan gave a minute nod to the Nung Chinese security man standing unobtrusively back in the shadows of the lanai. In turn, the guard whispered a few words into the lip mike of his radiolink. The cranking wail of a turbine engine came from the direction of the seaplane ramp as the pilots of Harconan’s corporate aircraft readied it for departure.

Harconan bowed over the hand of the ambassador’s wife, then extended his own to the ambassador. “Mr. Goodyard, I am at your disposal at any time. If I may be of assistance to you or your government, you need but call.”

“I’ll remember that, Mr. Harconan. And I thank you again. In a world where anti-Americanism sometimes seems rampant, your offer of friend ship is a comfort.”

From the lanai, Harconan watched as his Canadair CL215 Turbo drew a silvery streak of spray across the waveless surface of the strait before lifting into the sky. Angling away to the northwest, it bore the ambassador and his wife back to Jakarta. The running lights of the big twin-engine amphibian were soon lost amid the starblaze of the tropic midnight.

Settling his dinner jacket, the taipan turned and passed through the set of sliding glass doors that led to his commodious den/office.

Stepping forward from the shadows, the Chinese security man silently took up his station in the center of the lanai, facing outward to the sea and standing at a relaxed parade rest. A whisper of a breeze tugged the tail of his light linen sports coat aside, momentarily revealing the butt of a military caliber Beretta automatic pistol.

He was not alone. Beyond the muted circle of illumination cast by the house lights, the outer perimeter guards prowled quietly through the shadows, Steyr assault rifles slung over camouflage-clad shoulders.

Within the office, the airy batik wall hangings and expensive golden rattan furnishings effectively set off the polished teak of the massive centralized desk. Mr. Lan Lo, Makara Limited’s senior business manager and Makara Harconan’s personal aide-de-camp, stood respectfully beside the desk, hands clasped behind his back at a near parade rest, awaiting his employer. The stark white hair of the spare and venerable Chinese contrasted with the dark, well-tailored fabric of his conservatively cut suit.

“The dinner went very well indeed, Bapak,” Harconan replied, using the Bahasa Indonesian “father” honorific. “Ambassador Goodyard is a pleasant enough sort. Intelligent, albeit inexperienced. I think we will be able to do good work with him.”

Harconan crossed the office, giving the bow tie of his evening wear a loosening tug. “How do the openings look on the London and Paris exchanges?”

“Favorable, sir. Nickel, tin, and petroleum are stable. Mild upward trends continue for vanilla and pepper.”

“Excellent. And the Von Falken contract?”

“I have been in communication with our agents in Hamburg and the situation appears to be developing positively. The vote by the board of directors will not be taken until Friday; however, our preliminary polling indicates that the Harconan Lines bid will be accepted over that of PELNI for their regional container service between Singapore and Bali.”

The faintest ghost of a disapproving expression crossed La’s face. “Unfortunately, our agents also indicated it required an additional eighty-four thousand Euros in gifting beyond our projected budget to ensure the acquisition of the contract.”

Harconan laughed and tugged the tie from around his neck. “German businessmen are like their automobiles: expensive to buy, but the performance is worth it. Don’t worry, Bapak, we’ll get our money back and more. And now, the satellite operation?”

“Proceeding nominally, sir. The acquisition is complete and the spacecraft is under tow. Intelligence Division indicates no distress calls or alert notifications on the international distress frequencies and no unusual activity by Australian naval forces. Our operations group is proceeding on course to the holding site.”

“Very good indeed. It seems to be a successful night on all fronts.”

“So it would appear, sir.”