Target Lock

Fantail of the MV Harconan Flores 0804 Hours, Zone Time: August 25, 2008

From beyond the western horizon, a thin straight contrail, like a white pencil line against the tropic azure sky, began a climb toward the zenith.

“It’s an attack!” Harconan yelled the one instinctive exclamation in English, then he began shifting between Dutch and Bahasa Indonesia, rapid firing shouted commands into his Handie-Talkie. Somewhere a warning Klaxon began to bleat, its hoarse echoes wavering and distorted within the tunnels.

Amanda’s guard began to herd her and Professor Sonoo forward down the starboard deck passageway. Sonoo tried to stammer something to Harconan, extending a beseeching hand, but the guard batted his arm aside with the muzzle of his machine pistol. He followed up with a sharp jab of the muzzle to the lndian’s corpulent belly. Makara Harconan had no time for either Sonoo or Amanda.

In the guard’s haste to move them off the ship, he failed to note that Amanda still carried her set of binoculars. Cradling them close, she crossed her arms over her stomach, concealing them.