Don Brown - The Malacca Conspiracy

“Very well,” the general said, checking his watch. “It’s almost nine o’clock. Let’s go.”

Captain Taplus stepped out of the car and motioned to one of the military aides standing at attention. “Help the general and the colonel with their bags.”

Taplus stood by the back right rear door, flashed a sharp salute, and bellowed, “Atten-CHUN!”

Perkasa stepped out of the car. The sound of clicking boots echoed across the tarmac, as once again, at least a dozen army and air force personnel jumped to attention.

Perkasa threw a salute at Taplus. “Thank you, Hassan,” he said, doing something he rarely did, calling Taplus by his first name. “Keep everything under control until I return.”

“With pleasure, General!”

Perkasa dropped the salute, and then turned and headed up the portable stairway into the 737, with Colonel Croon on his heels. The pilot stepped forward and closed the door.

Taplus got in the staff car and drove back just to the gate leading off the tarmac. From there, he watched the 737 quickly taxi to takeoff position. A moment later, the plane lifted off, and within minutes, had disappeared behind the spotty cloud cover.

He exhaled. Taplus had unfinished business, and he needed the general out of the country so that he could get on with what he needed to do.

He picked up his cell phone, and dialed the general’s residence. A familiar voice answered. “Chief of staff’s residence.”

“Hello, Madina?”

“Yes?”

“This is Hassan.”

“Who?”

“Captain Taplus.”

“Oh, Captain.” Instant glee lit her voice. “Perhaps you are ready for that second cup of coffee?”

“I have a better idea,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“And what might that be?” A sultry, suggestive tone.

“How does sunset at the beach sound?”

“That sounds like a great idea!”

“Great. Ever been to Pelangi Island?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to. I hear it’s beautiful. Clear beaches. No one around.”

“Exactly. The general’s out of town. So is the colonel. That means I’m in charge. So why don’t you leave about two o’clock and meet me at Ancol Marina at Jakarta Bay about three? We can take the general’s boat. The island is about forty-five miles out and will take an hour-and-a-half. I’ll pack dinner, complete with wine. We can ride out, watch the sunset, and return tonight. What do you say?”

Silence. Then, “I’d love to.”

“Great. Bring your swimsuit. See you at three.”

Residence of General Perkasa

Jakarta, Indonesia

11:05 a.m.

Madina checked her watch.

Scrubbing the toilet bowl in the downstairs bathroom had taken twice as long as usual. Thank goodness the general was out of town.

The telephone call from the handsome Captain Taplus had sent her concentration level into a tailspin. She checked her watch again. Four more hours. What to wear?

Perhaps a short, bright sundress for the boat ride to the island. She could hide behind a palm tree and change into her swimsuit once they arrived.

Or perhaps she could wear the swimsuit under a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

But the sundress would be more feminine. And after all, he did say to “bring your swimsuit.” Not wear it, but bring it.

Now that she thought of it, it wouldn’t seem awkward for her to change behind a tree somewhere.

Yes, that was it.

He would like the sundress, she thought, and then hopefully he would like it more when she changed into the swimsuit.

What was this foolish feeling that felt like champagne bubbles floating inside her? She was like a silly teenager in love for the first time!

Perhaps they would have a military wedding. Yes, a military wedding, complete with swords and rifles. He would shine like a handsome prince in his dress uniform with all his shining medals. Her wedding gown would be long and flowing. Diamonds and rubies and precious jewels would adorn her ears and fingers.

Perhaps they would marry at sunset at Merdeka Square, with the general and other members of the Indonesian high command present.

Hassan would rise quickly in the ranks of the army. He was the best of the brightest, hand-selected to be on the general’s staff. Most likely, he himself would be a general one day. And she would be the loyal wife of a general. With elegance and grace, she would move among Indonesia’s ruling elite. Perhaps even dine with the wife of the president of the Republic. Being married to such a rising star would indeed have its advantages.

“Stop daydreaming,” she said, seemingly to no one. “You’ve had just one cup of coffee together.”

Yet she knew better.

It was more than just a cup of coffee.

In his dark, black eyes, she had seen the look. She knew.

Surely he had noticed hers. They had both felt electricity as their hands brushed in the kitchen and the hallway. The chemistry was undeniable.

And now he had asked her to one of the most romantic places in Indonesia, a beautiful secluded island to view the sunset with no one else around.

The doorbell rang.

She sauntered into the foyer, passing the general’s study on the right, and opened the door.

Three Indonesian men, two middle-aged with pot bellies, and the third, who was slim and fiftyish, stood at the door. “We’re from TVRI,” the older man said, referring to the state-run Indonesian national television network, Televisi Republik Indonesia. “We have orders to bring in some broadcasting equipment to set up in General Perkasa’s study.”

“Broadcasting equipment? What kind of equipment?”

“Television cameras. Lights. You know, equipment if someone goes on television.”

“I know nothing about it,” she said. “Normally, Colonel Croon or Captain Taplus would be here to approve.”

“Colonel Croon signed the work order himself,” he said, then thrust the paperwork forward. She examined the work order. It appeared to have the colonel’s signature.

“What have we here?” A woman’s chirpy voice came from high and above. She turned and saw Kristina, the general’s lover, descending the staircase. She was in a yellow sleeveless dress, like a chirping canary, and was smiling and beaming as if she were the general’s wife.

Although she and Kristina were nearly the same age, the general had insisted that staff members call her “Miss Kristina,” as if they were indentured servants, and “Miss Kristina” was the mistress of the house. Oh, Kristina was a mistress all right-one who had slept her way into the halls of power. That much was obvious.

“They want to put television cameras in the house. In the general’s study,” Madina said.

“Oh, they do? I know nothing of it,” Kristina said. “I’ll see you sometime, Madina. I’ll be gone for a while.” The human canary smiled and stepped around the television crew, then walked outside, swiveling her hips in an obvious attempt to catch the attention of other men while the general wasn’t looking.

“Good-bye, Miss Kristina.” No answer from the canary. Madina looked back at the TVRI crew. She had no time for this. She had to get ready to go and meet her captain.

Perhaps the canary had left some spiffy little sundress upstairs that would fit the evening’s occasion.

“Very well,” Madina said. “The general’s study is right through there. Take your time, but I may have to leave before you finish. Just close the front door when you are done.”

“Thank you, madam,” the man said. “It may take a few hours.”

“Fine,” she said, waving her hand at them in a dismissive gesture, then heading up the stairs to the general’s quarters.

There was no telling what delightful delicacies the canary may have left behind.