Abduruddin Suhanto, chief operating officer of the Greater Sunda Shipping Line, sat at a corner table, nursing a cheap gin drink that had been served him in a dusty glass. He patiently awaited the arrival of an old antagonist who had intercepted dozens of his narcotics voyages over long years of smuggling. This bribable, focused opportunist was Commander Carlos Batanza of the Philippine Navy.
The barmaid, a faded corpulent veteran of a long-ago career spent entertaining sailors in dockside cribs, walked over to the table with another serving of gin. She brought a clean glass since Suhanto had tipped her a peso for the first drink. She scooped up some change from the table, including another tip, and went back to the bar, sitting down on a corner stool where she maintained watch over the drinkers. Two patrons, intoxicated almost to a state of unawareness, sat silently at the bar, staring down at their drinks. Another man was passed out under a table, lying in vomit and urine.
The barmaid's attention was diverted by the entrance of a short, muscular Filipino man who looked like a plainclothes policeman in his white suite and tie. He paused for a moment, surveying the interior. He spotted Suhanto and walked past the woman to join him at the table. The man smiled and nodded as he sat down. "Hello, my friend."
"Hello," Suhanto said.
The man, Commander Carlos Batanza, turned toward the bar. "A double shot of scotch," he ordered from the barman. "And don't shove any of that watered-down shit at me."
The drink was poured from a special bottle reserved for cops and other people who could make trouble for the bar owner. The woman brought the libation over and left abruptly after the delivery, knowing better than to expect any payment, much less a gratuity, from the customer.
Batanza tasted the drink, smacked his lips, and turned a heavy-lidded glare on Suhanto. "I am here. What is it you have to offer me?"
"I have come into a situation that has a great potential of producing much money for the two of us," Suhanto said softly. "I am speaking of a chance to become permanently wealthy. This is the sort of monetary reward that provides big investments, mansions, and villas in Europe."
"Really? I take it you mean more money than to simply buy an expensive car."
"Naturally, Commander. I have ventured into another area of surreptitious dealings. Arms." He was pleased to note that Batanza's eyes had opened wider. "Of course it all depends on how well--or bad--things go."
"Then what must I do for us to get our hands on this fortune you speak of?"
"You have the means to make deals in weapons sales, do you not?"
"I have certain contacts," Batanza replied. "But this is a very tricky state of affairs. Particularly if the weaponry has been stolen from government sources."
'These most definitely have not," Suhanto stated confidently, though he really hadn't the slightest idea where al-Mimkhalif obtained the goods. 'These are untraceable and easy to resell."
'Then why do you not do it yourself?" Batanza wanted to know.
"I have no colleagues in that business," Suhanto admitted. "You, on the other hand, have displayed great efficiency in passing on many types of goods for a great profit."
"Mmm," Batanza mused. "And to whom are you supposed to deliver these weapons?"
"A Turkish arms dealer," Suhanto lied, knowing that even Batanza would not be greedy enough to steal from an Islamic terrorist organization. The corrupt naval officer was more used to the shadowy world of criminality with no political or religious agendas. Suhanto, on the other hand, would technically also be the one who was robbed as far as al-Mimkhalif was concerned. "I know the Turk only by the code name of Viski."
"Never mind him," Batanza said. "I shall not be having much to do with the fellow, eh?" He treated himself to another sip of scotch. "So what is your plan of operation?"
"I am now devoting all my ships to this new business ," Suhanto explained. "In particular, I shall employ the Jakarta ."
"Ah! Captain Muharno's vessel! An excellent man."
Suhanto smiled, thinking, You've stolen enough off his ship, you greedy bastard! But he said. "I know you find him trustworthy. At any rate, Muharno picks up the shipments off the island of Palawan at a predetermined location."
"I am not concerned with that," Batanza said impatiently, although he filed the information into his brain's memory banks.
"Of course not, Commander," Suhanto said. "From that point my vessels go to a specific location for delivery to other ships. Naturally, you are to intercept my cargo before the rendezvous."
"Of course!" Batanza exclaimed. "I think a seventy-five percent share is only fair for me."
Now Suhanto felt a surge of confidence. This time Batanza was not in the driver's seat. "In my opinion your share should be no more than a third."
"Ridiculous! I have the means of disposing of the arms."
"And I have the means of obtaining them," Suhanto said. "I will no longer bargain. It is sixty-forty in my favor." He leaned forward aggressively. "Take it or leave it."
Batanza's jaw tightened with anger for only a moment. This was a great opportunity to make what the Americans call "big bucks." "I acquiesce to your demands."
"Excellent," Suhanto said, knowing that the Filipino would not cheat him and spoil his chance at a continued source of big money. "I have a chart for you. It shows the routes from pickup to delivery. The first voyage will be early in the morning on a date yet to be determined. I shall dispatch the Jakarta." He handed the topographical rendering over to Batanza. "Choose where you wish to have the interception."
Batanza unrolled the chart and studied the course. 'The best place would be in the South China Sea that same afternoon. I can give you the exact longitude and latitude later."
"I will inform Captain Muharno," Suhanto said.
Batanza grinned almost impishly. "Will you be returning to narcotics if these arms shipments cease?"
The question infuriated Suhanto, but he controlled his temper, keeping the expression on his face calm and inscrutable. "I thought perhaps we might work out a new deal in that instance since we are going to be colleagues."
"That will never happen," Batanza said. "It will be very rewarding for me to catch your vessels at sea with cargos of dope. I think I was getting at least a fifth of them, eh?"
"You were getting half," Suhanto said.
"You are a lying snake," Batanza snarled. "We will discuss this later."
"Let us concentrate all our efforts on that first arms shipment."
"Of course," Batanza said. He finished his scotch, then got to his feet. After a quick nod to his host, he left the bar.
Suhanto signaled to the old barmaid for another drink.
.
PAKISTAN-AFGHANISTAN BORDER
22 SEPTEMBER
0430 HOURS LOCAL
THE al-Mimkhalif raider group moved silently along the path that led from the foothills down to the plain where the mission objective--a police border guard station--was located some twenty-five meters inside Pakistan. The moonlight was intermittently blocked by clouds, but visibility was good enough that the mujahideen had no trouble in negotiating their way down the steep rocky terrain toward lower ground.
Mike Assad was toward the rear of the column of two dozen men. This superbly trained and experienced U. S. Navy SEAL had been playing the role of a not-too-bright amateur soldier since his insertion into the terrorist group. Consequently, he had been assigned the lowly position of ammunition bearer for the operation rather than being a member of the attack group. The rag-doll figures of mujahideen in their baggy clothes were barely visible to him in the semidarkness as he made his way within the column. Mike's strong physique easily supported the thirty-five kilograms of shells he carried in the ammo pack on his back.