Don Brown - The Malacca Conspiracy

Chink, chink, ching. Keys jingled against the front door. Madina walked off to the right, out of sight, toward it.

There was a creaking and the rush of light wind as the front door opened.

“You are early, Captain,” Madina said, in a voice that carried a certain excitement.

“The general had a very late-night meeting.” This was the voice of Captain Hassan Taplus, the slim, ambitious young officer the general had first sent to fetch her. “I need to clean up his study and prepare him for his morning meeting.”

Kristina held her breath and prayed.

“You look so tired, Captain.” Madina’s voice was a bit needy. Kristina sensed that she liked Taplus. “I’ve just put on coffee,” she said. “Could I interest you in a fresh cup before you start?”

Please.

“Well, I really need to get the general’s study organized,” Taplus said, not convincingly. “Perhaps another time.”

“Oh, just a cup. Please? I’ve got it brewing in the kitchen. Why don’t you come back? I won’t hold you long.”

Taplus would not take the bait. Kristina was as good as dead.

“That would be great,” Captain Taplus said. Kristina exhaled and thanked the God that she had not been faithful in serving. “But I cannot linger. The study is a mess, and the general is leaving for Pakistan later today.”

Kristina waited as the sound of their footsteps reverberated down the hallway, fading slightly as they approached the kitchen. She heard the sound of ceramic clanking.

She stood and tiptoed into the fully lit foyer, then quickly up the staircase, as the sound of flirtatious laughter floating up from the direction of the kitchen gave way to the loud snoring in the bedroom.

Her gentle touch had been surprisingly electric, Captain Taplus thought as he slipped out of the kitchen from his unplanned earlymorning rendezvous with Madina.

She was a looker.

Now as he switched on the overhead lights and entered the general’s study, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Madina could have waited. The general could not.

Taplus checked his watch.

The general would be up in forty-five minutes. Part of the reason for the mess was that the general had ordered everybody, including Captain Taplus, to drink, to celebrate the first successful stage of the Malacca Project. Being the good soldier that he was, the captain naturally obeyed his leader.

Besides, the captain was part of the general’s inner circle, and had been promised by the general that he himself would see the rank of brigadier general in the new Islamic Republic of Indonesia-becoming one of the youngest general officers in the history of the army of the Republika. But all that would depend on him continuing to do his job in a professional manner, without any glitches. The drinking and the celebration had put him behind schedule.

First order of business would be to get these liquor bottles and food trays up.

He stepped out of the study and went back into the kitchen, where he was greeted by the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of Madina’s attractive figure from the backside.

“Excuse me, Madina.”

She turned from kneading the general’s bread and smiled. “Back so soon? Want another cup?”

“Perhaps later. I need a few trash bags.”

“Certainly, Captain.” She reached into one of the cabinets below the sink. “Here’s a brand new box for you,” she said, with a smile and a wink.

“Thank you.” He took the box and quickly headed back to the study, where he removed a green trash bag from it and started dropping liquor bottles in it.

He noticed a hum coming from the computer. But the screensaver was not on. In fact, the screen was black.

“Strange,” he mumbled to himself. Maybe it was in hibernation mode. He pressed the space bar. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

The screen. The power button. He punched it. The screen came alive. In bold, black letters, THE MALACCA PLAN stared at him.

“What in the name of Allah!”

“Is everything all right, Captain?” Madina called from the kitchen.

“Yes, of course,” Taplus lied. “Just a little spill.”

“Need some help?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

The truth was, his eyes were witnessing the potential downfall of his career. Perhaps even worse. Perhaps even a court-martial for dereliction of duty.

His mind raced as he imagined the worst-case scenarios. Stripped of his command. Stripped of his rank. Perhaps even execution.

This started last night when Dr. Budi volunteered his new suggestion for the assassination of Santos. The general and others proclaimed Budi’s plan to be “brilliant.”

After toasting the doctor and his bravery and his genius, the general had ordered Captain Taplus to open the Malacca file to record the modification of the plan. No longer would Perkasa loyalists stage a military coup against Santos. Budi would do it himself. Taplus had recorded the change just as the general had ordered.

But apparently, the file had not been closed out. Under no circumstances should that file have ever been left open. This was a security breach of unforgivable magnitude. Even though the general had ordered him to open the file, he was responsible for closing it and locking it down with the proper security codes. The general might not be so understanding.

How did this happen? Taplus racked his brain, trying to retrace the events. Another toast to Budi was proposed as soon as the entry had been transcribed and read back to the members of the Alliance.

Taplus himself had stood up and turned around to raise his glass to toast the doctor. Liquor flowed. The general launched into a longwinded speech, praising the doctor and bragging about what they would do with the many millions of dollars they all now had.

The long speech was punctuated by several more toasts, Taplus recalled, all of which he was required to drink to, to the delightful merriment of the group.

Perkasa had then slapped everyone on the back, adjourned the meeting, and sent everyone home. But because the general was slurring and staggering by this point, Taplus walked with him up the stairs, guiding him, just to make sure he did not fall.

By that time, the screensaver must have come on the computer, and Taplus forgot that the top-secret file had been left open, lurking just a space bar’s tap under the screensaver.

What to do?

“Think quickly, Hassan!” Protocol required that all breaches of top secret information be reported immediately.

But had there really been any leaks of information? Who would ever know? No one had been in the house since he left.

Except…

Except Madina.

Madina? She would never go into the general’s study. Or would she? Did she not just volunteer a second ago to help him clean it up?

No way could she have seen the report. If she had, her voice would not have been so naturally flirtatious. She could not be that good of an actress. Or was this the reason she was getting so frisky? What if she was a double agent working for Santos?

He sat at the computer, closed the file, and typed in the security codes to block its access.

What the general did not know could not hurt him.

As for Madina, he would have to decide how he was going to deal with her.

Paya Lebar Air Base

Singapore

8:00 a.m.

The US Navy C-130 Hercules taxied to the staging area at the end of the runway. Its four propellor engines spun in a shrill whine.

From her jump seat behind the cockpit area, Lieutenant Commander Diane Colcernian looked out the window at the rising sun, floating as a large, orange ball just inches over the horizon. A giant Royal Air Force C-17 Globemaster, the outline of its fuselage reflecting an orange tinge, was just in front of the Hercules.