For twenty years Aamir Sungkar, a moderate Muslim, had led his clan and gathered significant wealth through traditional means — mainly protection and minor corruption. But when his oldest son, Arung, took over after his death, he had pushed the boundaries of tradition and law, expanding the Sungkar clan’s interests to include drug trafficking, prostitution, gun running, piracy and people smuggling.
Arung was corrupt and ruthless, but he certainly wasn’t a religious fanatic prone to issuing fatwas.
“Remember your last assignment with us?” Thomas said. “You intercepted a shipment of the clan’s guns being run across the Strait of Malacca from Indonesia to Malaysia?”
“Of course.”
Just thinking about it stirred a rush of anger in Carter’s gut. As well as transporting weapons, he discovered, the targeted boat was also carrying five frightened young Hindu women from Bali, who he suspected had been kidnapped. He’d argued with Thomas, saying they should abort the operation, as the risk to the women was too great. Thomas had overruled his objections in no uncertain terms and ordered him to proceed.
Later he found out that Detachment 88, the brutal Indonesian anti-terrorist unit, had discovered the boat was also transporting C4 explosives to Malaysia. They, along with the cache of weapons, were being delivered to a known terrorist cell in Kuala Lumpur. When the Trident Bureau heard this, they insisted the operation be carried out and Thomas had complied.
“As you know,” Thomas said, “one of their boats was blown up in the process, killing a number of crew and clan members.”
“Don’t forget the five young women. You should’ve listened to me.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“It actually is the point as far as I’m concerned—”
“What you don’t know,” Thomas said, cutting him off, “is that Arung Sungkar was killed in the explosion.”
“Can’t say that upsets me. I’ve met sewer rats with more humanity.”
“That may be so, but every action creates a reaction. They now have a new leader.”
Thomas nodded at Wayan, who sat down at the table and clicked a key on the laptop’s keyboard. An image of a slim Indonesian man in his mid-thirties appeared. He wore a white skullcap and flowing white robes. A wispy moustache and wiry goatee framed perfect white teeth and a smile full of mischief.
Carter remembered Arung’s younger brother Samudra. His expression reminded him of one of the Bali bombers, Amrozi bin Nurhasyim, who, on hearing that he’d been sentenced to death, had welcomed the news with a huge smile and a thumbs up, saying, “There will be a million more Amrozis to come.” He’d been executed in 2008, unrepentant to the end.
“Samudra Sungkar took over as leader eleven months ago,” Thomas said.
Carter knew the thirty-nine-year-old’s history. He’d had a privileged upbringing and studied engineering and information technology at the University of New South Wales in Sydney. From what Carter had heard, Samudra, like Amrozi, had for many years strayed from the strict moral tenets of Islam. He drank, had sex with prostitutes and paid scant attention to the principles of his Muslim faith. Three years ago he had disappeared off the radar.
“He’s a dangerous man,” Thomas said. “He believes he knows God’s will.”
“Not another one,” Carter said. “I thought he was a party boy.”
“He was, but now he says he was corrupted by the decadence and moral depravation of life in Sydney. And that Australians are racist and treated him like a second-class citizen.”
“Something else must’ve turned him to the dark side, though?”
“Yes — it started when his younger brother was killed in Afghanistan in 2009 by Australian special forces in Helmand Province. It pushed him into the arms of the Islamic fundamentalists — his wealth and position meant they targeted him and gave him the full treatment.”
“I bet they did.”
“For two years he attended training camps in Malaysia, Pakistan and Afghanistan, where his instruction covered military tactics, propaganda, weapons and explosives, as well as extensive religious study. And now that Arung is dead, he’s in charge.”
“Sounds like he’s following in the footsteps of his grandfather.”
“So it seems,” Thomas said, topping up Carter’s tea.
Samudra’s grandfather, Fajar Sungkar, had been a member of the radical Indonesian fundamentalist sect Darul Islam, established in 1942 by Muslim militia. Its sole aim was to create an independent Islamic state where the only valid source of law was sharia, a legal code based on a strict interpretation of Islam.
They fought an armed rebellion against the Sukarno government in the 1950s and ’60s. Later, a number of them travelled to camps in Pakistan and Afghanistan, where battle-hardened mujaheddin trained and inspired them to commit to a life of jihad.
The “Afghans,” as they called themselves, became the leaders, ideologues and commanders of Jemaah Islamiah, the violent extremist group responsible for the Bali bombings and other terrorist activities led by Abu Bakar Bashir.
One of their goals — introducing sharia law into Indonesian society — had met with partial success. The northern Indonesian province of Aceh was now legitimately ruled by sharia, its legal code based on their own interpretation of the Koran. He’d heard reports that people had been caned and even stoned for adultery.
Carter knew that the jihadi extremists were very much in the minority. The vast majority of Indonesia’s Muslims were good, friendly people who contributed to society in a positive way — like the majority of people belonging to any other culture or religion. But Indonesia had the world’s largest Muslim population — over two hundred million — which meant that even a small percentage of them represented a sizeable number.
“So what’s God telling Samudra?” Carter asked.
“He’s publicly declared that there is no nobler way to die than as a martyr. He’s called on the members of the Sungkar clan and its international affiliates to pledge every cell of their being to wreaking God’s vengeance on Australia and the order before the new year, less than a week away.”
“All because we killed Arung?”
“That was the tipping point that took him from being a radical fundamentalist to initiating a jihadist call to arms.”
“So you reckon Samudra sees himself as what? The next Osama bin Laden?”
“Correct.” Thomas took a delicate sip of tea and placed it on the table. “And you are involved whether you like it or not.”
11
Carter drained his teacup and looked out the open window, studying the shedding bark of a ghost gum. He wondered what Thomas wasn’t telling him. Thomas only shared information on a need-to-know basis.
“How do you know it’s not just the mad ranting of a fanatic preaching to the converted?” Carter asked. “Why take it so seriously?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, three clan members did try to kill you this morning.”
“Could’ve just been a one-off act of revenge.”
“I can assure you it’s not just about you. We have evidence that Samudra has set up a military-style training camp on Batak Island at the top end of Sumatra.”
“A bunch of radical Muslims running round in army fatigues on a remote tropical island and a revenge attempt on my life hardly constitute a threat to Australia’s national security.”
“Perhaps not, but we’ve discovered a Sungkar clan cell four hours west of here, on a cattle property close to Boggabilla on the Queensland — New South Wales border.”
Carter put his hands behind his head and stretched back. There had been a couple of credible terrorist threats against Australia in the late nineties and in the aftermath of 9/11, both involving local branches of Jemaah Islamiah. One had involved the group Mantiqi IV, who had a base in the Blue Mountains, an hour and a half drive west of Sydney. Another group had set up a military-style training operation in Western Australia — it had been run by the Ayub twins, who fled Australia after the 2002 Bali bombing. Despite the initial concern, neither had amounted to anything.