Early or not, Lan Lo had been waiting for him, taking his straight-spine seat across the table from the taipan.
“Mr. Harconan, the depot at the south Sabalanas was destroyed last night.”
“I know, just as were the replenishment sites at Bawean and Tana Jampea. The Americans probably got the locations of half a dozen other active hides in the Sulawesi operations area off the squadron at Adat Tanjung. They’ll be sailing from Benoa tomorrow, probably to conduct a sweep of the remaining sites.”
“Might I propose an evacuation of our assets?”
“Impossible, Bapak. If we move in a ship to evacuate our stores, American reconnaissance will backtrack it to its base and the cycle will begin again.”
“Then what is lost is lost and we must accept and rebuild. The damage to our operations will not be excessive.”
“I’m not so sure, Lo.” Abruptly, Harconan drew the coffee cup back, taking a gulp from it. “The material losses we can live with, I agree. But we’re being hit and we aren’t hitting back. This isn’t good for our people, Lo. Things have gone well for us and suddenly they aren’t.”
“The maintenance of one’s aura of invulnerability is a difficult task.”
Harconan looked up sharply at Lo. Was it conceivable that the weathered and staid Chinese was making his version of a joke?
Harconan would accept it as such. “Point well taken, Lo,” he replied, smiling wryly. “A serious problem nonetheless. My people must keep their faith with me if we’re to continue with the plan. To ensure that happens, I must keep faith with them. Have there been any reports from Jakarta concerning the people we lost in the Piskov raid?”
“No, sir, nothing from the polisi or the Defense Ministry.”
“Then if any survive, they must be held aboard the American war ships. When do they sail from Benoa?”
“Their scheduled departure time is eight-thirty tomorrow morning, sir.”
“And the port assault force I ordered assembled?”
“Two hundred and forty-five Bugis assembled and equipped, Mr. Harconan, plus small craft and demolition materials. Also, should more sophisticated actions be required, we have a twelve-man Nung Special Operations team standing by.”
“Excellent.” Harconan hesitated a moment more before committing. “Lo, we’re taking down the American task force tonight. We’re going to eliminate them as a threat, and we’re going to get our prisoners back.”
There was only a flicker in Lo’s dark eyes. “You have set yourself a formidable task, Mr. Harconan. We must assume the Americans will be prepared for diverse eventualities.”
“Very true, Lo,” Harconan replied, taking another sip of coffee and finding that he enjoyed it. As always the decision to attack, to take action, eased his tensions. “But it will only get worse if we let them get out to sea. This will be our best chance.”
“Possibly, sir.”
Harconan drained the cup. “Now, tell me this, Lo: As this will be their last night in port, are there any ceremonies or special events scheduled to take place as a farewell?”
“Yes, sir. The island governor is holding a farewell dinner and an exhibition of Balinese dance and performing arts tonight at the Taman Werdi Budaya Art Center, for the ships’ officers.”
Harconan lightly brushed his mustache in thought. “I see. And have I an invitation to this function?”
“Governor Tengarra always sends you an invitation to any such affair, sir.”
“Excellent. You may inform the governor it will be my great pleasure to attend. Please notify the helipad that I’ll want the helicopter in one hour. Have the pilot standing by as welclass="underline" I think I’ll want him along on this flight. Also, notify the unit leader of our special-operations team that I want him waiting in my office when I get in.”
“As you wish, sir.” Lo hesitated for a moment, his uncertainty very unusual. “Mr. Harconan, may I state that this is a decided… gamble we will be taking?”
Harconan looked fondly at his old retainer. “What hasn’t been a gamble, Bapak? From the beginning and on to whatever the end will be, always there will be the gamble.”
“This is understood, Mr. Harconan. But there is always the degree of the gamble. In a direct confrontation with the United States Navy, you will be taking on a foe such as never before challenged.”
“A ship is a ship, Lo,” Harconan replied jovially, “and all are prizes to be taken. You know how it is with the Americans: With a bit of luck, having two of their ships attacked in an Indonesian port will set their politicians to squabbling like a pack of village dogs. We’ll be left in peace for years, or at least until their next election.”
“Possibly, sir. But might I remind you of the words of a Japanese admiral, Yamamoto, in a somewhat similar situation with the Americans.…”
Harconan sobered abruptly. “I recall, Bapak. ‘We have awakened a sleeping giant that will destroy us all.’ ”
Flag Quarters, USS Carlson
1732 Hours, Zone Time: August 20, 2008
“We’ve had one major development since this afternoon’s O Group.” Clad in her pumps and going-ashore whites, Christine Rendino sat back on the flag office couch. “It seems that one of Mr. Harconan’s ships is missing.”
Standing beside the desk, Amanda Garrett looked up from the revolver she’d been checking. “Say again?”
“We can’t find one of the Harconan Seaways ships, anywhere,” Christine repeated insistently. “I ordered an assets inventory on the shipping line and we can’t get a fix on one of his coasters.”
“Which one, and how do you lose an entire ship?” Amanda spun the chambers, checking the five .38-caliber loads in the little weapon, then carefully pressed the cylinder closed. Once, on the firing range, she’d flipped the action shut like she’d seen done on television and Stone Quillain had almost taken her head off — something about distorting the cylinder crane. Amanda hadn’t seen fit to question his call on the matter.
“The Harconan Flores, and that’s what we’d like to know. She’s not listed in at any of the regional ports, and we can’t pick her up at sea with either the Oceansats or the Global Hawks. Either she’s done a Bermuda Triangle on us or our boy Makara is running a swifty.”
Amanda couldn’t stop the frown that tugged at her mouth at the mention of the taipan’s name, nor could she halt the burst of recent memories it released. Turning away from the intel to hide her expression, she slipped the handgun into the holster she’d had stitched inside her shoulder bag, verifying that the row of speedloaders were in their loops at its bottom.
The revolver in her bag and the automatic in Christine’s were only an aspect of the security she’d ordered for their last evening in Bali. If she could exercise her own preference, no one, especially the task force’s senior officers, would be leaving the ship tonight. But they had to maintain the pretense that this was still a routine goodwill port call, even though the enemy knew by now it was just a facade.
She wondered how he had taken it, the night after their day together. Had he reacted to her attack on his base with anger, or coldly, as if it were just another chess move in the game they were playing? Had it been enough of a slap in the face to draw him into an overt action against the task force? If it had been, he’d move tonight, before they sailed.
Amanda became aware of the voice behind her again. “Excuse me, Chris, what was that?”
“The Harconan Flores is a most interesting ship, Boss Ma’am,” Christine repeated patiently. Amanda could sense an intent blue-eyed gaze aimed at the back of her neck. “She’s an amphib, an ex-East German Frosche-class LSM, part of the same bulk buy as our old buddy the Sutanto. Harconan picked her up surplus a couple of years ago and had her refurbished for use as a small interisland RO/RO. Her beaching gear and bow ramp are still installed and operational, and I bet you and Harconan did it mare-and-stallion style a lot. He looks like the type.”