The Malacca Conspiracy

Chapter 14

US Navy EA-18G (“Growler 2”)

Over Christmas Island, south of Indonesia

6:15 p.m.

Reagan, Growler 2.”

“Go ahead, Growler 2.”

“Sir, we’ve got the Seahawks down below us, skimming the water at five hundred feet. Crossing Christmas Island now. We’re ready to initiate jamming of Jakarta airspace at your direction, sir.”

“Growler, Reagan. Maintain course three-one-five degrees. Initiate jamming on my mark in…three minutes. Stand by. Mark it!”

“Reagan, Growler. Mark it. T-minus three minutes to initiation of jamming sequence.”

“Growler. Reagan. Copy that. Two fifty-nine. Two fifty-eight. Two fifty-seven…”

The pilot looked off into the deep blue watery horizon, where the sun was setting into the Indian Ocean just left of the plane’s nose. As the countdown proceeded from the tower aboard Ronald Reagan, he pressed the transmission button for internal communication within the cockpit. “How’d you like to be an air traffic controller at Soekarno-Hatta International in about three minutes?”

“They better hope they’ve got eardrum insurance.” The electronics officer laughed. “It’s going to take a few minutes to get our choppers into Indonesian airspace undetected. We’ll keep the boom box blasting till they tell us to turn it off.”

“This’ll be fun.”

Soekarno-Hatta International Airport

Jakarta, Indonesia

6:18 p.m.

Singapore Air four-four-niner,” the controller said, “turn right zero-two-zero degrees, descend to three thousand and hold.”

“Four-four-niner, roger that. Turning right zero-two-zero degrees. Descending to three thousand.”

Buzzing hornets suddenly filled the headset. The controller ripped the headsets from his ears, as the amber radar screen went blank. “What the-”

“What’s that noise?” another controller yelled.

“Hey, my screen went blank,” yet another controller blurted.

“Chief, we’ve got a problem,” the first controller said. “Radar’s blanked out.”

The supervisor rushed over to the screens. A litany of curse words followed. “Switch to backup radar! Now!”

“Switching to backup, sir.” The controller glued his eyes to the screen. Backup was slower, but at least it was reliable. “Come on, baby…Come on…It’s not working, sir.”

“Alert all planes on emergency channel. All planes in holding pattern remain in holding pattern. Turn back all inbound aircraft. No one takes off or lands till we can fix this.”

“Yes, sir!” The controller hit a button opening a frequency to all approaching and holding aircraft. “Jakarta Control to all aircraft in the area. We have a radar malfunction. Go to position reports. All planes contact Bali Control!”

US Navy EA-18G (“Growler 2”)

Over Christmas Island

6:22 p.m.

Reagan. Growler 2. Sounds like we’ve set off a party down there, Skipper,” the electronics warfare officer said. “They’re trying to divert the big birds to Bali.”

“Copy that. Not a bad place to go if you’ve got to divert. At least we know our toys really work. Keep busting their eardrums till we get our choppers on the ground.”

“Roger that. We’ll shuck and jive, and keep the party alive until we hear lights out from you.”

“Growler. Reagan. Have fun, and stand by.”

“Reagan. Growler. Standing by with our fingers on the light switch.”

Indonesian Air Force C-9

Over the Java Sea

6:25 p.m.

From his seat in the VIP section just behind the cockpit of the military jet, Captain Hassan Taplus looked out over the darkening waters of the sea and smiled. This would be the last sunset in which anyone would call him “Captain.”

He would surely be promoted to “Colonel” Taplus once he stepped off the plane. Perhaps the general himself would be there to meet him at the tarmac to pin his new rank upon his collars, and perhaps even an award for heroism on his chest.

Ah, yes. The glorious moment would come soon.

But no, on second thought, the general would be too busy for an airport promotion ceremony. As much as the general would personally like to be there, his duties would not allow it. That was understandable. The general could not be out in the public.

At least not yet, anyway.

The general would dispatch Colonel Croon to preside over the on-the-spot promotion, and then, there would be a more formal ceremony later on, replete with the appropriate cast of military and civilian dignitaries. The promotion would come now, and the medals for heroism would come at the formal ceremony. Yes, that was the way they would do it, he decided.

There would be a tickertape parade for him. He knew it. Much like the ones he had seen and read about in America. It would be the kind of tickertape that he had seen on YouTube for the American astronauts who walked on the moon all those years ago.

Of course, realistically, the parade would not only be for him. The general, of course, would have to be at the head of it, but there would be no reason whatsoever that he, the soon-to-be Colonel Taplus, would not be riding in the backseat of the convertible alongside the general. After all, the names of Perkasa and Taplus would go down forever as founding fathers of the Islamic Republic of Indonesia.

Of course, others would be in the parade as well. Perhaps even some of the people sitting behind him on this plane. There weren’t many of them. Only a handful were on the mostly empty plane. They were the scientists who worked on the project and a few other military advisors. That was okay. The parade would have to be long enough to make it worthwhile for the throngs of adoring Indonesians and the international media that would be clamoring to focus on the lead car.

But the point is, they would all be in the cars trailing him and the general. Even Colonel Croon could be in the parade. But he should be riding behind the lead car. Yes, Croon still outranked Hassan, for the time being anyway. But the general would come to the realization, if he had not already, that Croon was a stooge yes-man. Nothing wrong with a stooge yes-man who happened to be in the right place at the right time. History was replete with them. They were good at feeding the egos of the real changers of history. And yes, they were loyal to their hero idols.

Croon was loyal to the general. That, Hassan had to admit. But Croon could never have pulled off what Hassan had just pulled off. There was a reason the general sent the bright, young, handsome star of his staff, and not the old, dull, decrepit yes-man to pull off the most stunning technological feat in Indonesian history.

Hassan closed his eyes and smiled some more.

Yes, except for the on-the-spot promotion he was about to receive from the colonel at the airport, perhaps the colonel had already outlived his usefulness.

It was a thought anyway.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice came over the plane’s intercom system, “but there’s been an unexpected radar failure at Jakarta, and we’ve been ordered to turn the plane around and head to Bali. Don’t worry, Bali Control has us on their screens. We’ll keep you posted on developments.”

“What?” Hassan blurted. Had he heard that right? This could not be. He had just pulled off the single most historic achievement in his nation’s history. Now he was needed in Jakarta. The general would want his briefing. Perhaps even a joint press conference before the nation would be in order. Perhaps his promotion would take place on live television, and then they would go into the press conference.

He unholstered his safety belt, stepped into the aisle, and marched three steps forward to the cockpit area.

“What do you mean, we are turning the plane around?” Captain Taplus was now standing at the door of the cockpit.

“Air traffic control has rerouted us because of a radar failure,” the copilot said.

“Do you know who I am?” he snapped at the pilot. “I am Captain Hassan Taplus of General Perkasa’s staff. As you know, General Perkasa is now in charge of the Indonesian government. My presence in Jakarta is a matter of extreme urgency.”

“I understand, Captain Taplus,” the pilot said over his shoulder, as the plane began a wide, slow, banking maneuver. “But I have regulations I must follow. There is much confusion on the ground because of the assassination of the president. My regulations are mandated by the air force, of which I am an officer. If a controller tells us to turn away, we must turn away. We run the risk of midair collision by flying into heavily trafficked airspace without radar control.”

“Captain,” Hassan shot back, “I am sorry, but on the authority granted me by General Perkasa himself, I am ordering you to fly to Jakarta.”

The pilot looked over his shoulders, with an arrogant nobody-tells-me-what-to-do look on his face. “Captain Taplus, this is my airplane, and I am in command of it. And until someone on the ground with a higher authority than yours tells me otherwise, I am obligated to follow orders and procedures.”

Hassan instinctively reached for the pistol grip in his holster and whipped out his nine-millimeter Beretta. “Here is your higher authority!” Hassan pointed the gun directly at the sycophant. “Your orders are to turn this plane back to Jakarta! Now! A good pilot can fly in on direct reckoning, without radar. Do it!”

“Direct reckoning is almost impossible at night,” the pilot protested. “You can’t see anything unless you’re right on top of the airport.”

“Then use your compass, you idiot,” Hassan said. “You can figure it out!”

“And if I don’t you’ll shoot me?” the pilot snarled. “Who will fly the plane?”

Hassan swung the gun to the copilot’s head. “How about if I shoot your buddy over here first?” He jammed the barrel right behind the copilot’s ear.

“Don’t turn around,” the copilot said. “Let him shoot.”

The pilot’s eyes shifted between the gun, the copilot, and Hassan.

“I must remind you that until you turn this plane around, Captain, you are disobeying a lawful order, which will subject you to court martial if and when this plane lands. Now I’m going to count to ten,” Hassan said. “And when I reach ten, I’m going to splatter your friend’s brains all over the cockpit.” The pilot’s eyes shifted even more rapidly. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

“Let him shoot…”

“Seven, eight…”

“Don’t give in to this idiot…”

“…Nine…” Hassan brought his finger to the trigger.

“Stop!” the pilot screamed. “Okay…okay…we’re turning around!”

Hassan pulled the gun back. Slightly.

“But I’m warning you, Captain Taplus,” the pilot said, as he began steering the plane back to a course approaching due west, “if and when we get this plane on the ground, I’m reporting you to the authorities.”

“Report all you want, Captain,” Hassan said. “But just remember this: General Perkasa is not going to be happy with you disobeying the lawful order of his chief assistant. Report me, and you’ll go from flying jets in the air force to driving a milk truck for the national guard. And that’s if you’re lucky.” He waved the gun in the general direction of the pilot. “Remember this too: you’ve got one hour to get this plane safely down on the ground in Jakarta. If not, you’ll need a body bag for your buddy here when we land. Am I clear?”

“You are clear, Captain.”

United States Embassy

Jakarta, Indonesia

6:45 p.m.

Zack had changed back into his white uniform, and stood in the corner of the heliport on the roof of the main building in the center of the sprawling compound. He was standing with the deputy chief of mission, Bruce Laredo, along with two US Marine guards.

Evening was falling over Jakarta, and the gorgeous sight of the twilight in the tropical sky pulling a starry mask over the last hint of orange hue from the vanishing sun reminded him that more than four hours had now passed since anyone had last seen Diane alive.

The faint sound of helicopter rotors grew stronger. Zack checked his watch. Right on time. The SEALs were always on time. The thought of being joined by his navy brethren fueled the dim flicker of hope smoldering in his soul.

“How well do you know this captain?” Bruce Laredo asked.

“Real well,” Zack said.

“How so?”

“I handled a big case for him a few years ago in San Diego. A navy SEAL was accused of rape. The woman who was raped just happened to be the niece of a powerful US senator. Chairman of the Armed Services Committee, as a matter of fact.”

“Roberson Fowler? Louisiana?”

“The one and only.”

The roar of the helicopters, which had not yet come into view, was now making it difficult to hear.

“So what happened?” Laredo was now yelling over the top of the approaching roar.

“The senator wanted a conviction. Which meant that the SEALs wanted a conviction.” Zack looked over at Laredo, whose eyes were wide open in the dim lights on the helo pad. “Which meant the navy wanted a conviction. I delivered. Case closed.”

The first SH-60B Seahawk, gray in color, with the word NAVY painted in black along the fuselage, crested the top of the trees. The helo pad lit up like a Christmas tree. One of the marines stepped forward and made crisscrossing signals in the night sky with the long, orange fluorescent sticks in his hands.

The chopper responded, gently feathering down on the center of the pad. A second chopper appeared. Then a third. They hovered for a moment, responding to the orange glow extended from the confident arms of the marine. Within minutes, all three choppers were perched on the roof, their engines still running.

Soekarno-Hatta International Airport

Jakarta, Indonesia

6:48 p.m.

The blank screen flickered, then flickered again. The electronic long hand reappeared, then began sweeping the blank screen in a clockwise direction. And then, contacts! Dozens of them! They appeared all over the screen all at once!

“Chief!” The air traffic controller felt an electric excitement surge through his body. “Radar’s back up! We’re in business!”

“Mine too!” another controller shouted.

“Contacts, Chief!” a third controller blurted. “The static is gone from my headset!”

“Great work, ladies and gentlemen!” the chief exclaimed. “I’m putting you all in for a government commendation. Now let’s get these planes turned back around and get them in here!”

United States Embassy

Jakarta, Indonesia

6:49 p.m.

The concrete heliport was shaking, it seemed, from the ferocious wind and roaring thunder of the three engines. The marine gave a cross signal with the sticks and, one by one, the pilots shut down the engines.

The bay door opened on the chopper in the center. A tall, familiar, lean-looking figure, wearing a camouflage uniform with a black eagle stenciled on the collar, signifying the rank of a US Navy captain, stepped out. On the chest of his jacket was the black Trident symbol of an angry eagle behind an anchor, clawing a pitchfork and a pistol-the insignia of a US Navy SEAL.

All three choppers opened their doors. Lean warriors in cammies and boots, with black grease on their faces and strapping submachine guns over their shoulders, all with SEAL insignias on their chests, trampled onto the roof of the building.

Zack approached the captain and shot a smart salute. “Good to see you, sir. Welcome to Jakarta.”

“Zack!” Captain Buck Noble smiled, returning the salute. “We keep meeting in the darndest places.”

“Yes, sir.” Zack dropped his salute. “Captain Noble, this is Mr. Bruce Laredo, deputy chief of mission for the embassy. He’s in charge in the ambassador’s absence.”

“Mr. Laredo.” Captain Noble saluted the deputy ambassador.

“Welcome to the US embassy, Captain,” Laredo said.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this.” Noble motioned his head toward the SEALs still piling out of the choppers. “But I was wondering if you might find some accommodations for my men during our stay…which I hope won’t be long.”

“Certainly,” Laredo said. “Lieutenant Jones?”

“Yes, sir.” The marine with the glow-in-the dark sticks came over to where they were standing, then saluted Captain Noble, who returned it.

“Lieutenant,” Laredo said, “please lead the SEAL team down to the dining area. Get them anything they need. Water. Coke. Food. Restrooms. I’ll let you know if we need overnight bedding accommodations.”

“Aye, sir,” the marine said. He motioned the SEAL team to follow him through a rooftop door into the embassy building.

As they were entering the building, Captain Noble pulled one of them to fall out of line.

“Mr. Laredo, Zack, this is Lieutenant Commander Garcia, my XO.”

“Commander,” Zack and Laredo said.

Garcia extended his hand to Zack. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Commander Brewer. The skipper here speaks highly of you.”

“The skipper’s gracious,” Zack said.

“No, it’s true,” Noble said. “I’ve just been put on the list for admiral, Zack. If you’d lost that trial, it never would’ve happened. They would have forced me into retirement.”

“Congratulations on making the list, sir.”

“The SEALs owe you one. I owe you.” He gave Zack an affectionate slap on the back.

Laredo turned to Captain Noble. “Captain, if you and Commander Garcia will accompany me and Commander Brewer to the ambassador’s office, I believe you’ll find what you need there.”

“Please lead the way,” Captain Noble said.

Laredo led them down two flights of stairs. Three or four minutes later, they stepped into a large hallway leading into the ambassador’s office. Ms. Kowalski, the ambassador’s assistant, was standing at the door.

“Ms. Kowalksi, this is Captain Noble of the Navy SEALs,” Laredo said.

“Please help us, Captain.” Her voice cracked. “The ambassador is a good man.”

“We’re going to try, ma’am,” Captain Noble said.

“Do we have the blueprints, Ms. Kowalski?” Laredo asked.

“They’re spread out on the ambassador’s desk.”

“Thank you.”

Zack and Captain Noble followed Bruce Laredo into the room. On the ambassador’s desk were several blueprints of a large building.

“Captain, Commanders, these drawings of the interior of Merdeka Palace are courtesy of our Dutch allies. The Dutch designed and built the palace, and Dutch engineering firms have performed maintenance projects on the building over the years.

“These papers diagram every inch of the building. From the entrances on the roof, to the power generation plants, to the data storage rooms, to the location of every electrical socket.”

Captain Noble leaned over the desk and studied the drawings. “Hmm. You speak like a man with an intel background, Mr. Laredo.”

“You pick up on that, Captain?”

“Nuances in your voice make me suspicious.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“You tell me.”

“You’re good, Captain. Interagency transfer from CIA to State Department five years ago. They want us interspersed throughout our embassies abroad. Particularly potential hotspots.”

“Okay,” Captain Noble said. “I’ll need thirty minutes here with Commander Garcia to construct an operational plan. Then we’ll need to meet with the team. Meanwhile, Mr. Laredo, I’ll need the basic floor plan reduced and copied for every one of my men. Can we make that happen?”

“Absolutely, Captain,” Laredo said. “We’ve already started working on it. Ms. Kowalksi?”

“Copies should be ready now. I’ll bring them up.”

“You’re good, Mr. Laredo.”

“No problem, Captain.”

Noble looked at Garcia. “What do you think, XO?”

“Just like we said earlier, Captain. We need to strike quickly to take their power out. Then we’ve gotta move. Looks like a power generation plant is here, and outside electrical lines are running here.” The XO pointed at various spots on the drawing. “We hit those areas with RPGs and then move quickly. We’ll need to take out their people, then do a rapid search for the ambassador and Commander Colcernian.

“And just as important, our orders are to take out General Perkasa. We may have twenty minutes max before they get organized from the outside and realize that their inside security has been taken out.”

“Agreed,” Captain Noble said. “We’ll divide into groups of three. I’ll take team one into the central section of the palace. XO, take team two into the east wing. Lieutenant Jones leads team three into the west section. We reconvene on the roof twenty minutes later and wait for our birds. From there, we fly straight to the carrier. We’ve gotta be swift, and we’ve gotta be effective.”

“Assuming we get the order from Washington to launch,” Laredo said.

“Of course,” Noble replied.

“Question,” Zack said.

“Yes, Zack.”

“Sir, remember you just said if there was ever anything you could do for me?”

“Sure thing. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to go, sir.”

A puzzled look crossed the captain’s face. “You want to go where?”

“On the mission. Diane’s in there. I want to go in with the SEAL team.”

“Are you crazy, Zack?” Captain Noble frowned. “I said I’d be glad to help you in any way, son. Getting you killed is not my idea of helping you.”

“Captain,” Zack said, “I’m a naval officer. I’ve taken the same oath to protect and defend the Constitution that you’ve taken, sir.” Zack’s blood was rushing. “I took that oath voluntarily, knowing that it could cost me my life. And if this mission costs me my life, then that’s the price I’m prepared to pay.”

“But, Zack, you’re a JAG officer. You’re not trained for this mission.”

“Captain,” Zack said, “you know what great respect I have for our SEAL teams. I’ve represented the interest of the SEALs as a trial counsel. I’ve spent tons of time with you and our SEAL teams at the amphib base in Coronado. But, sir, when it comes to handling a weapon, I grew up with weapons in eastern North Carolina. I was firing a gun before I was weaned off a pacifier. I could pick off a water moccasin’s head with a rifle at a hundred yards from a boat drifting up and down the Roanoke River. Did it hundreds of times. I was firing shotguns and rifles and pistols on my granddaddy’s farm in Martin County before most of the members of your SEAL team ever thought of joining the navy. Sir, with all respect, I can hang with any members of your team when it comes to handling a weapon.”

Silence.

“I’m sure you’re good with a rifle, Zack. But it’s not just about that. There’s physical training…”

“Just ran a marathon last December when I was on leave back on Kiawah Island, South Carolina. I’m in shape, Skipper. Trust me.”

The captain and Commander Garcia stared at each other. Commander Garcia was shaking his head no way.

“Please, sir,” Zack persisted. A desperation entered his chest. The desperation was for Diane. Whether she was dead or alive, he had to be there. He could not live with himself otherwise. “You said that if I ever needed anything. Please. Diane is in there. We don’t know what kind of shape we’ll find her in.” Their eyes locked. “She might need me.”

A pause. More looks between the CO and the XO. Captain Noble checked his watch. “Look. We don’t have much time. I’m not saying yes and I’m not saying no. But get downstairs and hook up with Master Chief Stoudemier. Tell him I said to get your face painted and get you into gear, and issue you an Uzi. I’ll make a decision on you if and when we get orders from Washington to go. But if I were to say yes”-he was wagging his finger-“and this is a big if, then you are to stick with me like white on rice. Understand?”

“Aye, aye, Captain. Thank you, sir!”

The White House

8:00 a.m.

I don’t know, Mr. President.” This was the voice of Secretary of State Robert Mauney, who was being conferenced into the Oval Office via secure line from his east-bound jet, somewhere over Arkansas. They were discussing the proposed military operation against Merdeka Palace, which had been put together and brought to the president by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “My problem is that we’re launching a military action from a United States embassy. We’re opening a can of worms if we establish a precedent that it’s okay to launch military strikes against host nations from embassies in that nation. Suppose Iran launched a raid on the US Capitol from its embassy in DC?”

“That’s form over substance,” the secretary of defense responded. “This is a rescue operation. We know our ambassador and our naval attaché are in that building, we know there has been some sort of coup there, and we have every right under international law to defend ourselves, sir. This action is tantamount to self-defense, Mr. President.”

“It isn’t self-defense if we’re trying to go in to kill this General Perkasa,” the secretary of state’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “That’s an offensive operation. Again, sir, I don’t object to a military mission. It’s just that we can’t justify launching a military mission from an embassy.”

“But this self-defense mission was technically launched from the aircraft carrier.” Secretary Lopez was now standing and waving his arms in the air. “Besides, we jammed their airways. We’ve already flown three choppers into our embassy undetected under our jamming signals. They’ll never know that our choppers lifted off from the embassy, Mr. President.”

The secretary of state jumped in again. “We’re taking a real risk in thinking this won’t be discovered, Mr. President. Again, do we really want to set a precedent that would allow Iran or North Korea to launch attacks from their embassies against the White House? Please remember, sir. The fact that we’re going after this general makes this offensive. Not just defensive.”

The secretary of defense loosened his collar. “But the fact is that this general just exploded a nuclear weapon and is threatening who-knows-what if the UN doesn’t cave to his crazy demands about Israel. This throws a whole new dynamic into the equation, Mr. President. He’s essentially threatening terrorist strikes on our soil if we don’t make the UN kick Israel off the face of the planet. This fact alone makes the operation defensive in nature. Besides, if we’re going to take this idiot out before his self-imposed deadline, this is the only show in town.”

“There must be other ways,” Secretary Mauney said. “Why not use Tomahawk cruise missiles launched from the carrier or a sub? Then we take out the general without getting the embassy involved.”

“Because,” Secretary Lopez shot back, “if the general is inside the palace, and we don’t know that for sure, then a cruise missile is the best way to ensure that our ambassador and our naval attaché wind up dead, if they aren’t already.”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Mack said. His two top cabinet secretaries were always at odds with one another, it seemed, but both made good points. “Secretary Mauney, my concern here is that we’ve got an unpredictable madman on the loose with nuclear bombs, and we’ve gotta try and take him out and save our people before his deadline arrives. As I told the Joint Chiefs earlier, we must cut off the head of the snake before it strikes.

“Secretary Lopez”-he looked at the secretary of defense-“order the navy to carry out Operation Bull’s-eye.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” the secretary of defense said. “I’ll make the call to Seventh Fleet immediately.”