"I don't know a damn thing about Mike Assad," Carey interrupted. "It has nothing to do with this headquarters."
Senior Chief Dawkins screwed his face into what he considered a polite smile. "Maybe you could ask around for us, sir."
"There are certain situations in which inquiries are not made," Carey said. "Mike Assad is one of those. Sorry. See you when you get back from Florida."
The three Brigands left the office.
.
KUPANG, TIMOR ISLAND
7 SEPTEMBER
1030 LOCAL HOURS
THE Greater Sunda Shipping Line that operated out of Timor Island had been grandly conceived and named by its Indonesian owner, Abduruddin Suhanto. When he started the business with an inheritance from his grandfather, he entertained himself with fantasies of becoming a rival to the famous shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis. And, like the Greek tycoon, he would have hundreds of romances with beautiful women, then marry a stunning and famous American lady of high class. Maybe even a film star.
Unfortunately, his dreams deteriorated rather quickly and he never developed the contacts needed for lucrative shipping transactions. Politicking and socializing were not Suhanto's fortes. He ultimately ended up with a list of shady clients who operated in the darkest shadows of legal commerce. These customers did not pay well, if at all, and his fleet ended up as a quartet of fifth-and sixth-hand cargo vessels with documentation that had been changed, counterfeited, and transferred so many times that it was impossible to trace the rust-streaked tubs' original ownerships.
After a bit more than twenty-five years, Suhanto was now in as bad a physical condition as his ships. He was a fifty-year-old bloated wretch with a multitude of illnesses that had been brought on by shocking excesses of rich foods, alcohol, and sex. His feet were so swollen that he could wear nothing but flip-flops, and he walked with a heavy shuffle. His round face, which should have shown a healthy swarthy complexion, was faded and patched with a network of capillaries that ran through his cheeks and nose.
Suhanto's home life was as miserable as his business. The woman he'd drawn in an arranged marriage by his parents had been overweight, whining, and homely. This was a far cry from the comely svelte women he'd dreamed of in his youth.
Over the years of misery, the wife grew even worse. He had taken a second bride of sorts by purchasing a twelve-year-old girl in Thailand fifteen years ago. She was now moving into middle age and had adopted the first wife's love of chocolate candy and indolence. The two fat women now conspired together to make their husband's existence a living hell. Suhanto had lost all interest in having sex at home. He sought release for his infrequent passions between the legs of his favorite sexual partners: adolescent girls available in the city's brothels.
The shipowner's commercial life, however, did improve a bit after years of struggle. Suhanto began to realize a profit when his main business evolved into a busy smuggling operation. He turned out to be excellent at organizing such activities and his ship's captains were skilled at putting those plans into actual practice. The Greater Sunda Shipping Line made most of its profits in the drug trade, hauling heroin from Southeast Asia to rendezvous points where it was further transferred to the profitable markets in the West. While Suhanto made great sums of money in the business, he also lost a great deal of it through the payment of bribes and kickbacks. Also, a lot of his cargo was stolen away when crooked law enforcement caught him at sea. They simply took over the ship and made the delivery themselves. After collecting all the money, they released the captain to take the vessel back to Suhanto. Those corrupt officials knew that sooner or later they would catch the same ships yet again for more financial gain. After a few such scores, these clandestine pirates were smart enough to let a few vessels complete their runs. After all, if Suhanto made no profit at all, he would abandon the drug trade.
But this particular day was one that might bring a permanent and advantageous change to Suhanto's shipping activities. An Arab gentleman had sent an emissary to arrange for a meeting. The stranger had a smuggling proposition that would not involve narcotics. Suhanto knew it would mean arms shipments, and to him the change would be a step-up in life.
The shipper reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch whiskey. After taking a deep drink, he replaced the liquor and belched. The warmth from the alcohol spread slowly through his bloated body in a soothing way. He felt encouraged from this preliminary stimulation of alcohol. A knock on the door interrupted his reverie. His clerk, a spindly old man named Bachaman, stuck his head into the room.
'The gentleman you are expecting has arrived," the old man said.
"Show him in "
A moment later a slim Arab man with sharp features and a scraggly beard stepped into the office. He wore an ill-fitting Western business suit, and his hair was pulled back into a sort of ponytail arrangement. He nodded politely to Suhanto. "Sabahil kher, Assayid Suhanto. My name is Hafez Sabah."
"Good morning" Suhanto said, returning the greeting in the same language. "You know I speak Arabic, hey?"
"I know many things about you, Mr. Suhanto."
"Please sit down, sir," Suhanto said, not too pleased about that particular revelation.
"Thank you," the visitor said, taking a chair on the other side of the desk. "It was most accommodating of you to see me on such short notice."
Suhanto, who did not like idle chatter, got to the point. "What can I do for you?"
Sabah, taking the hint, cut to the chase. "My organization would like to make use of your four ships."
Suhanto shrugged. "I am involved in an especially profitable association at this moment, Mr. Sabah. You would have to offer me a most attractive proposition to lure me away from my present activities."
"I am well aware of your true situation," Sabah said. "You have a business that is either feast or famine. My proposition will even things out for you."
Suhanto ignored the affront. "What is it you would require of me and my fleet?"
"My organization wishes you to pick up goods at certain locations at sea near the Philippines, and make delivery to our people along the Pakistani coast."
"And what organization might this be?" Suhanto inquired.
"We are known as al-Mimkhalif," Sabah explained. "That is an acronym that stands for al-Mujahideen Katal."
'The Warriors of Fury?" Suhanto commented. "I've heard much about you on television and in the newspapers."
"I am sure you have. We are organized under the blessings of Allah to deal with the misguided brothers of Pakistan and Afghanistan," Sabah explained. "We have many connections around the world."
"Am I to understand that this will involve weaponry?"
"Of course," Sabah replied.
"Very well!" Suhanto said. "Payments for such enterprises is traditionally made in American dollars."
"We will pay you in Saudi rials."
Suhanto was thoughtful for a moment. "Mmm. That is acceptable. The currency of Saudi Arabia is steady and dependable. What terms are you offering?"
"You will be paid all expenses; including your crew's salary," Sabah said. "Additionally, a daily total of three hundred rials will be added to that amount."
"I should think a thousand rials would be more convenient."
"I am not going to bargain with you," Sabah said calmly. "Allow me to reiterate. You will be paid your costs plus three hundred rials daily while you actually work in our service."
"Unacceptable!" Suhanto exclaimed pulling out his calculator. He punched in some numbers. "That is only one thousand one hundred twenty-five American dollars."
"You have no choice, Mr. Suhanto," Sabah informed him.