The southernmost part of Indonesia, the province of Maluku, is comprised of 1,027 volcanic islands and fewer than 1,700,000 people. The vast majority are Muslim.
Not long ago, entire portions of Maluku were “cleansed” of Christians in a holy war staged by a terrorist group known as Laskar Jihad. At its height in the late 1990s and first decade of the 21st century, the movement had 10,000 followers actively engaged in arms smuggling, sniper attacks, forced conversions and circumcisions, and massacres. An estimated 10,000 people were killed in the process. Another 500,000 were displaced. Maluku is now strictly segregated along religious lines.
Today the most feared terrorist network is Indonesia’s Jemaah Islamiyyah or JI. The group routinely preys on “soft targets”: places where Westerners tend to congregate. It came to international attention after bombings at luxury tourist hotels in Bali in 2002 and Jakarta in 2003, and the Jakarta airport, also in 2003. Hundreds were killed in the name of Islam, mostly Australian and other foreign tourists.
Other terrorist groups also thrive in the region: the Philippines’s Abu Sayyaf, with solid ties to al-Qaeda; a Malaysian Islamist group, the Kumpulah Mujahedeen Malaysia; and homegrown insurgents who operate among the islands with little fear of ever being discovered.
None of the individual cells had the economic or military resources of a country, but for at least ten years, this was not a problem. Strategic strikes throughout the world had proven that open and tolerant societies were extremely vulnerable. Indonesia included.
Although the U.S. State Department designated JI as a Foreign Terrorist Organization, attacks in Indonesia are generally viewed as terrorism only if the victims are foreigners. Assaults against locals don’t receive the same attention from the police, courts, or government, partially out of the belief that further reprisals from Islamic extremists will be worse.
However, the U.S. did send troops to Indonesia to help train the Indonesian Army (TNI) in counter-terrorism techniques. As a result, the TNI intensified offenses against JI strongholds. Laskar Jihad ultimately disbanded, but Jemaah Islamiyyah and other splinter groups continue to thrive, killing and scattering into the thick, mountainous jungles and dark, dangerous caves too numerous to catalogue.
The terrorists live on ransom money, drug sales, and cash from the global terror network, including al-Qaeda sources.
Widespread poverty contributes to further corruption. The police and military are regularly bought off. Lawlessness rules many of the islands. Kidnappings, bombings, extortion, and torture remain the terrorists’ principal tools.
Americans interested in exploring the famed coral reefs of the Maluku Islands are urged by the State Department to seriously reconsider.
Umar Komari, commander of an emerging terrorist fragment October 12, is one of the reasons.
“Three million! And what do you come back with? One-third?” Komari shouted in Bahasa Indonesian.
Musah Atef offered only a muffled, “I’m sorry, sir,” through the hood over his head. The haggard subordinate was prostrated before his commander. Komari had his foot on his shoulder, his Luger at his temple.
Everything spoke to the Muslim tradition of dominance. Placing a captive on the ground, or putting a foot on him, implied the captor was God. The hood denoted shame for the captive. Fully aware of the cold barrel of the gun, Atef took special care to answer carefully. He had seen Commander Komari kill many hostages without remorse. Now four of his fellow officers watched him, fearing one day they would be in the same position.
“I’m sorry? That’s all you can say?” Komari roared. Even those deeper in the cave would be certain to hear him.
“Yes, sir.”
“The agreement was three million of the infidel’s dollars!” the 47-year-old terrorist leader now whispered in his ear. The amount was not for general consumption, since he planned to skim a percentage as his own. “And you dared return with this?” Komari now shouted. He pressed his foot hard into Atef s shoulder blade, causing the young soldier to cry out and plead for his life.
Now Komari reached for Atef’s backpack and spilled the contents on his back. He didn’t have to count out the twenties — all in U.S. currency — to see how badly he’d been swindled by the corrupt Chinese colonel.
“Huang held a gun to my head just as you do, and he says the Shabu is no good. Low grade,” Atef explained.
“Communist pig!”
“A pig whose paws can finger a gun.”
“And you could not convince him otherwise?”
Atef raised his head as if to look at Commander Komari. “Convince him? No sir. There were only three of us. In the past we met only four of them. But he came out of nowhere in a fast amphibious craft with more men. Maybe twenty. His machine guns and cannons were already aimed at us. They could have blown our cigarette boat out of the water in seconds.”
Komari spit in disgust. He’d been double-crossed, yet lucky to get his men back with at least some of the money. Still, he made Atef believe he would die for not trying harder.
“I should kill you now. That way I won’t have to feed you. Your portions will go to someone deserving to live.”
If he did pull the trigger, only his troops would hear, and that would serve its own purpose. No one else was nearby. Tonight, Komari’s men were huddled in a mountain cave tucked into one of the four backswept peninsulas of Halmahera. Tomorrow they would be at another encampment — always moving, never providing a reliable pattern for the TNI.
Komari had greater knowledge of the North Indonesian island chains than any fisherman who worked the waters. He knew the tides, and which coves were safe and which were not. He also knew the interior trails, virtually frozen in time, where hunter-gatherer tribes lived as they had for thousands of years. And he had faith that he and his men could disappear for years, if need be, just like the Japanese soldier who went undetected on the island of Morotai for twenty-eight years.
Komari cocked the trigger. At the sound, Atef bowed his head and pleaded. “Commander, it was different than each time before. The Chinese colonel broke his agreement with you. It is not my fault.”
“Is it Allah’s will then? You blame Allah?” Komari demanded, calling on the Arab belief that incidences are not a matter of cause and effect, but the will of God.
Atef shook his head.
“Then perhaps you are merely the messenger with the bad news? That our friends who manufacture the Shabu are providing inferior-grade product? That is why I should not end your life now?”
“Yes, sir,” appealed Atef.
“Then go on. Beg for your life. But rest assured, your next words will determine your fate, for you have failed me and all who pray to Allah for the future of our independence.”
“Sir, as Allah as my witness, this is the truth. Colonel Huang claims that not even the weakest can become addicted to our last Shabu. He says he must sell three times as much for the same money to be effective. So he pays us a third of your price. He threatens my head as you do, and he laughs. He tells me that I have a death sentence three ways: by his hand, by yours for not returning with the proper amount, or by the government if they catch me.”
A smile rolled over Komari’s face. He stroked his long, knotted beard. The length was a visible symbol of his faith: the longer the beard, the greater the faith. Commander Komari wore the beard of a truly devoted Muslim. He thought for a moment. Colonel Nyuan Huang was notorious for turning a moment to his advantage. He chuckled.
“Of course. If you had objected, he would have killed you on the spot. If you tried to escape with the drugs, then Huang would have notified TNI patrol boats. Given the right coordinates, they could have tracked you back to our camp. That would have been the other death sentence, right?”