With refueling complete, lift and drive turbines lit off with a rising whine.
“We’re only eight minutes long, sir,” Caitlin reported as the Queen came up on her inflating skirt.
“Well, damn. We can tell the Lady another of her screwball ideas wasn’t so screwball after all. Terry, you get the replenishment confirmation off to the task force?”
“Aye, aye, sir. I just got the microburst off. We’re getting a data dump from the Carlson. It looks like a mission update.”
“They got tomorrow’s hide for us?” Lane inquired, coming forward on the airscrew throttles.
“That’s an affirmative, sir. It looks like a mangrove swamp on the Kelantan coast of Borneo. Coordinates coming up on your Navicom display now. We’re instructed not to attempt the transit of Makassar Strait until tomorrow night.”
“Gotcha. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir.” Wilder’s voice lifted in excitement. “We’re getting targeting data! Intel has an objective for us, sir. A village called Adat Tanjung on the western Sulawesi peninsula. We’re receiving a bunch of stuff on the place.”
“Right.” Steamer checked the iron log, watching their surface speed climb toward good cruise. “Put it on hard copy, then let’s call our pet leatherneck up here and start making medicine.”
Makara Limited Corporate Headquarters, Bali
0012 Hours, Zone Time: August 16, 2008
Amanda Garrett loved to dance. Thus she established her command post on the tiled dance floor set up in the center of the Makara Limited forecourt. The position gave her a mobile overview of the entire reception area as well as an excellent cover for discreet conversation with members of the shore party.
Or at least the masculine ones.
As she fell in step with Elliot MacIntyre and felt his strong hand curve to her waist, she mused at the wisdom of combining pleasure with business.
“How are you finding the reception, Admiral?”
“Very illuminating,” he replied, guiding her slowly to the updated strains of an old Bobby Troop lounge piece. “Did you notice a certain chill when you spoke with our Indonesian Ambassador Goodyard?”
She shot a glance toward the ambassador’s table. “Unusual for the tropics, wasn’t it?”
“The word is that Goodyard has been seen glad-handing with our host.”
Amanda lifted an eyebrow. “In the pocket?”
“Not yet, but watch this space,” the admiral replied, steering them to the emptier corner of the floor. “Remember handshaking with Brigadier General Bradley Inger, our Indonesian defense attache? I attended the General Staff War College with him. I got Brad over to one side and we swapped scuttlebutt over a couple of drinks.
“According to him, Goodyard is your typical political appointee. He doesn’t have a clue about international affairs, and he’s scared to death he might actually have to do something out here.”
“And the Harconan connection?” A distracted corner of Amanda’s mind wondered at the delicacy of Maclntyre’s embrace. Damn it, it wasn’t as if she were going to break.
“Harconan has volunteered himself to serve as Goodyard’s sea daddy and font of local information. Harconan’s already had him out to Palau Piri a couple of times.”
Amanda frowned. “Interesting. Could the ambassador be in Harconan’s pocket already?”
“Brad doesn’t think so. Not in the monetary sense, anyway. Goodyard’s not an overt sellout. He’s just green and a sucker for a good line. It’s not going to be easy to convince him that Harconan’s the root of all evil.”
Amanda considered, moving automatically to the music and to MacIntyre’s guidance. “Hmm, it’s always good to know about potential broken reeds before you might have to lean on them. Do you think you could have the secretary of state whisper in Goodyard’s ear over this matter?”
The admiral shook his head, his chin lightly brushing her bangs. “I’d have to be able to give Harry something solid on Harconan first. This man is a major player down here. Telling tales on this gentleman without the absolute proof to back it up will not endear us to either the State Department or the Indonesian government.”
“I see. Catch-22 rides again. Was your friend able to give us anything else under the table?”
“Just that Makara Harconan seems to work very hard at being scrupulously honest, or at least in giving that appearance. He won’t even touch the routine business high jinks expected of your average Asian trader. Enough to make Brad suspicious of a ‘hole in the water’ scenario.”
“A smart bird doesn’t make a mess in his own nest. Do you have any other friends here, sir?”
“One other. Theoretically he’s an Australian trade attache attached to their consulate here in Bali. However, when I knew the gentleman up in the Gulf, he was commanding a squadron of their Special Air Service Regiment and talking about a career change to intelligence work. We shall see.”
The quintet completed the piece and the music trailed away, followed by a polite scattering of applause from the other dancers.
“Thank you for the dance.” He looked down at her, that surprising trace of boyishness showing again in his smile.
“My pleasure, sir.”
MacIntyre escorted her to the edge of the floor. There was a moment’s hesitation before he released her hand, then he was moving off toward a caucusing cluster of foreign-office types. Amanda followed him with her eyes. The embrace on the dance floor had not been… what it could have, but that last clasp of her hand had been firm and warm.
Smiling, she set that aside and looked to another of the surrounding tables, the one shared by Cobra Richardson and Stone Quillain and a growing accumulation of Bintang lager bottles.
Given the flailing hands of the aviator and the maps being fingertip sketched on the tablecloth by the Marine, a major assault landing was well under way.
She crossed to the developing battle. Both officers broke off the engagement and stood at the approach of a lady.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, nodding in greeting. “Stone, I find myself lacking a partner and we haven’t danced yet tonight.”
Good Lord, was it possible for a Marine to blush?
“Uh, no, ma’am, we haven’t. But then, I’m not much of a hand for slow dancing.”
Amanda extended her hand. “The proper response, Captain, is ‘I’m not acquainted with the evolution, ma’am, but I am prepared to learn.’ ”
If Eddie Mac had treated her like a spun-glass statue, her landing force commander taught her how to dance like a live land mine. “Begging the Captain’s pardon,” Quillain growled under his breath as he gingerly steered her across the floor, “but if she gets a busted foot out of this, it’s her own damn fault.”
“Understood, Stone. However, it is permissible to move that hand at least somewhat lower than my shoulder blade. Good grief, didn’t you even dance with your girl at your senior prom?”
“Why, sure. We did some fine line dancing in between the fistfights. It’s just I never danced with my CO before. Feels funny.”
“Let me guess. You wore your best Stetson with your rented tux?”
“Doesn’t ever’body?”
Amanda chuckled. “If they switch to country-western later in the evening, I know where to come. In the meantime you’re doing fine. Have you picked up anything interesting so far?”
“Words with the lieutenant commanding the embassy Marine security detail. He’s got a suspicion some of their Indonesian staffers might be taking home two paychecks. He’s not sure who’s signing the other one, though. It doesn’t seem to be one of the usual suspect governments, so our guys figure it may be a private party. That’d play with what we’re working on, wouldn’t it?”