“We will have thirty minutes in the palace. Now you’ve all been studying the maps that we’ve supplied, and you know that there are two principal target areas where we look first for our people. First, there’s the president’s office, which is here.” He pointed to the map projected on an overhead projector.
“We believe that the president was assassinated here, and that the ambassador and the commander were here. The XO will take his team here.”
“Lieutenant?” Noble nodded and one of the SEAL team lieutenants fired up a PowerPoint. On the wall, an image appeared. The man on the wall looked like a South American tinhorn dictator. Zack had studied the US 1989 military operation against Panama, and this man looked like a twin brother of the former Panamanian dictator, Manuel Noriega.
“This, gentlemen, is General Suparman Perkasa. He is the chief of staff of the Indonesian military. Our intelligence believes that he may be the man behind the assassination of President Santos.
“This afternoon, Indonesia exploded a nuclear bomb on Gag Island in the Halmahera Sea.” Mumbling arose from the SEALs. “Listen up. From the information that we have, it appears that one of our cruisers, USS Port Royal, was crippled in that blast. We believe that much of the crew may have been lost.”
Silence. The gravity of the situation was now settling on Zack. Diane could be in the hands of a nuclear madman.
“Now, this general has gone on television and threatened the United States with nuclear blackmail.
“We think this guy might be holed up in the palace. The lieutenant is now passing out photos of him. If we see him, we are to take him out. Am I clear on this?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Put the map back up, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Now we think that perhaps Perkasa, if he’s in the palace, could be operating in the vicinity of the president’s office, which is here.” He tapped on the map at the hallway outside the presidential office.
“The other principal target is here.” The captain was pointing to a different area of the map. “The medical clinic.” He eyed his men. “If there are injuries, or if there have been fatalities”-Captain Noble glanced at Zack-“we expect the dead and the injured to be here. We may have to shoot our way through. But if the lights are out, we have an advantage. We own the night.
“Remember, our objective is the safety and rescue of our people. That means bringing the ambassador and Lieutenant Commander Colcernian out of there. We move quickly once in the palace and then we report back to the roof, where the choppers will be waiting. Anyone not back on the roof will be left behind. We must work quickly and efficiently, and we must be deadly. Any questions?” A hand went up. “Yes, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, will we be receiving backup from the battle group?”
“The plan calls for air cover by F/A-18s from the Reagan. Hopefully that will keep the Indonesian Air Force off our tails if they discover us. But we’re vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire from the ground. That answer your question?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Other questions?”
There were none.
“Very well. Let’s get moving.”
Jakarta Air Base
7:15 p.m.
The pilots had given him no more trouble, but had obeyed his orders to land the plane. As well they should have. The arrogant punks.
And now, as the Indonesian Air Force C-9 taxied down the runway to the tarmac, the pilots would see.
They would see by the reception awaiting him exactly who they were up against. When they saw him promoted to the rank of colonel on the spot, they would think twice about causing trouble over the incident on the plane.
Hassan stood up. Standing in the aisle of the taxiing plane, he pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed his medals. Then he rubbed his bars signifying his rank as captain. This would be the last time, he thought, that he would have to worry about a smudgy fingerprint on his captain’s bars. From this day forward, he would be wearing the insignia of a colonel. Or perhaps, yes, perhaps they would promote him directly to general right here on the spot. He could not help but to shiver at the thought of it.
The plane rolled to a stop. A moment later, one of the stewards opened the door to the plane. Hassan took a breath and stepped out onto the portable stairwell. He looked down.
No lights.
No honor guard.
No television cameras.
The bastards! They had rolled the plane to a stop at an area of the airport away from the ceremony. All to embarrass him…to avoid having to witness him receive his just promotion in his glory!
“We are in the wrong place!” he yelled back at the steward. This would not go without repercussions. “I want to see the pilot! Now!” Hassan screamed.
The pilot stepped to the door. “What is it now, Captain?”
“Why have we rolled the plane to a stop here?” he demanded.
The disrespectful pilot looked sarcastically at the steward, and then back at Hassan. “Captain Taplus, we stopped the plane here because we were ordered by ground control to stop the plane here. We park the plane wherever ground control tells us to park it.”
What garbage. “It is a crime under the Indonesian Code of Military Justice to lie to a superior officer,” Hassan screamed. “You are a liar, and you will not go unpunished!”
“With all due respect, Captain,” the pilot snarled, “you are not my superior officer. I am a captain too. We are of the same rank.”
“We will see about that,” Hassan snapped. He reached for his pistol. As his hand felt the grip, an Indonesian army sergeant bounded up the portable staircase toward the cockpit entrance.
“Captain Taplus!” the sergeant shouted, flashing a salute as he approached the two men. “Colonel Croon sent me to pick you up, sir.”
“Colonel Croon is not here?” Hassan returned the salute. The ungrateful piece of scum. Sending a sergeant to the air base. Croon was undoubtedly feeling threatened already and was trying to undercut his promotion.
“The colonel is with the general,” the sergeant said. “Your presence is needed.”
“Very well.” At least that comment would let the pilot know who he was dealing with. He turned back to the pilot. “This is your lucky day, Captain. I will deal with you later.” He turned to the sergeant. “Let’s go, Sergeant.”
United States Embassy
Jakarta, Indonesia
7:20 p.m.
The warm tropical night air was blowing from the north, barely noticeable against the wind gusts generated from the whirling blades of the three choppers sitting atop the embassy helipad.
The Uzi strapped over his shoulder, Zack stood on the helipad alongside Captain Noble, watching the captain bark orders.
“Move, move, move!” Captain Noble was motioning with his hands and directing the SEALs, who were climbing in an orderly fashion into the three SH-60B Seahawk Navy choppers on the pad.
Because the embassy itself was less than a mile from Merdeka Palace, the execution plan called for the choppers to make a wide swoop in the air, first to the south, then circling all the way around the city to hit the palace from the north.
Choppers One and Three would attack the palace’s power plants with rocket-propelled grenades, while Tomahawk 2, spearheaded by Captain Noble’s group, would lead the burst onto the palace roof.
“Okay, let’s go, Zack,” Captain Noble said. “Head down. Stick with me.” Sprinting across the roof behind the other SEALs, Zack followed Noble to Tomahawk 2, jumped in the cargo bay, and strapped into a nylon jump seat. “Get these birds in the air,” Noble ordered. A second later, Tomahawk 2 lifted off, pulling away from the lighted embassy below.