The Malacca Conspiracy Page 5

  “Welcome, Mr. Ambassador,” the doctor said.

  “Doctor Shelton McNair, I’d like to introduce Lieutenant Commander Diane Colcernian, United States Navy.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Commander.” The doctor extended his hand. His accent was American. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Dr. McNair is chief medical officer for the US embassy here in Singapore,” Ambassador Griffith said. “I’ve asked him to personally oversee Zack’s medical care.”

  “Is he okay, Doctor?”

  “He’s suffering from smoke inhalation. He’s on oxygen, but I think he’ll be fine.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “He’s been under sedation, but sure. Why not?”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Diane said.

  “My pleasure, Commander. Follow me.”

  McNair led them through a back hallway to the staff elevator. They rode to the fourth floor.

  “Follow me,” McNair said.

  They walked past the nurses’ station to a hospital room door that was cracked open. Two voices having a slightly heated discussion poured out. One, female with a Singaporean accent. The other, Diane recognized with relief.

  “But, Commander, you have not been released by your doctor,” the female voice said.

  “Ma’am, I’m telling you, I’m fine. I’ve got work to do,” the male voice with a slight Southern accent retorted. “I can’t be stuffed up in here with a war going on out there. Pass me my shirt, please.”

  Diane traded glances with Dr. McNair and Ambassador Griffith.

  “Stay here a minute.” Dr. McNair stepped into the hospital room. He closed the door, but voices still poured under the door.

  “What’s the problem, Commander?” Dr. McNair said.

  “Doctor, I appreciate what you’ve done”-cough…cough-“but we’ve undergone attacks on two tankers and the Rasa Sentosa. All this appears to have been coordinated and”-cough…cough-“I work for Ambassador Griffith, and he’s going to want me on this”-cough…cough-“ASAP…”

  Diane winced. The coughing was bad.

  “Oh, really? Well, Ambassador Griffith can order you to stay in bed.”

  “That’s my cue.” The ambassador looked at Diane and winked. “Stay here.” Griffith stepped through the door and into the hospital room.

  “Mr. Ambassador!” A surprised tone came from the Southern voice.

  “What’s this I hear about my naval attaché arguing with the nurses?”

  “Sir, I”…cough, cough…“I’ve got to get back to the Rasa Sentosa.”

  “What’s the hurry, Commander?”

  Cough…“To be honest, Mr. Ambassador, I’m afraid Lieutenant Commander Colcernian may be out there. I’m worried about her, sir.”

  “We’re trying to find her, Zack. In fact, I’ve got someone with me who has information that might help locate her.”

  *****

  “Really?”

  Diane recognized her cue. She pushed the door open slightly.

  The Carolina blue T-shirt hugged Zack’s trim torso, and his navy blue swim shorts revealed a rich tan on his legs. That slight cleft was still in his chin, and a small dash of gray had set into his sideburns. She melted when his green eyes met hers.

  “Thank God!” He threw his arms open and jumped off the bed. Their embrace would not be denied by any doctor or ambassador.

  Their lips met.

  Diane traced the bulge of his muscled biceps. The kiss…it was nuclear…then suddenly shortened when he pulled away to cough again.

  “Commander, please. Back to bed,” Dr. McNair said.

  “That’s an order, Zack,” Ambassador Griffith followed.

  “Yes, sir.” He backpedaled and plopped onto the hospital bed, but he did not relinquish Diane’s hand.

  “Feeling better now, Zack?” The doctor smiled.

  “What?”

  “Do you feel better?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” His eyes wouldn’t relinquish their gaze on hers. Nor would his smile fade. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Good.” Dr. McNair looked at the nurse. “Let’s get some O2 in him, please.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Zack,” McNair said, “we’re holding you another day as a precaution against pneumonia. We’ll run tests. You should be good to go soon. Meantime, I’ll leave the three of you to visit for a while.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” he said.

  McNair stepped out of the room.

  “Hold your head still, Commander,” said the small-framed Singaporean nurse. “The oxygen will make you feel better.”

  “Sure.”

  She strapped a small, clear oxygen tube to a mask and strapped it on his face. “If you’ll cooperate with us, Commander, maybe the doctor will release you soon.”

  “Thanks, Nurse.”

  The nurse smiled and stepped out of the room.

  “So what happened?” His voice was muffled by the mask, but still audible. “You phoned from the lobby, and then…”

  “I was standing in the lobby, but as soon as you told me you were by the pool, I couldn’t wait to see you, so I rushed outside. The bomb went off maybe five seconds after I stepped outside. We must’ve missed each other in the chaos.”

  “Thank God you’re alive.” Zack squeezed her hand. “I hoped we could spend more time together before you shipped to the States. But now…”

  Ambassador Griffith broke into a smile. “Zack,” he said, “Diane has some news for you.”

  “News?” He raised a curious eyebrow. “Come on, tell me. I can’t stand surprises.” Cough.

  “Well…” She exchanged glances with the ambassador. “It turns out that you’re not the only navy JAG officer to be appointed as a naval attaché.”

  “Let me guess. I’ve been fired and the ambassador is hiring you?”

  “How’d you guess?” she chuckled.

  “Not hard. You’re a ton prettier than me.”

  “You’re right about that, Zack,” the ambassador laughed. “But you’re not getting off the hook with me that easy. Actually, my pal Ambassador Martin Stacks over in Indonesia just lost his attaché. I knew the two of you might not object to being just an hour away from each other by plane, so I recommended Diane for the job. And what do you know?”

  “Really?” Zack smiled through a couple of wheezes. “Congratulations! So how far is that from here?”

  The ambassador answered, “Well, Commander, that’s 561 miles by the flight of the crow, or more to the point, by the flight of the C-130.”

  Zack released her hand, but not his smile. “So when do you start your new job?”

  “In about fifteen minutes. We just got word of an attempted attack against the tanker SeaRiver Baytown. USS Reuben James took out the suicide boat, and they found at least two Indonesians on board. Reuben James is bringing the bodies into port here in Singapore. I’m going down to meet the ship.”

  His smile vanished. “I’m going with you.”

  “Later, Commander,” the ambassador said. “I’ll make sure Commander Colcernian apprises you of everything.”

  “Aye, sir.” His voice deflated.

  Diane leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “See ya soon, Zack.”

  Changi Naval Base

  Singapore

  2:45 p.m.

  The new Changi Naval Base, home port of the Singaporean navy, was a panoramic splash of red-and-white, as the stars and crescent moon that graced the red-and-white, broad-striped flag of the tiny republic fluttered from every ship moored in the piers, from every building facing the piers, and from flagpoles on the piers themselves.

  There was one exception.

  The 450-foot gray warship, which only minutes ago inched slowly alongside Pier One, flew off her fantail the red, white, and blue of the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America.

  At the end of Pier One, Lieutenant Commander Diane Colcernian, in the summer white uniform of a US Navy JAG officer, stood next to a Sin
gaporean naval officer and watched as Singaporean sailors standing on the pier tossed lines back and forth with sailors on the American warship.

  Moments later, the ship’s crewmen erected a portable catwalk between the ship and the pier, then unfolded a white-and-blue banner. The banner stretched horizontally along the catwalk and proclaimed in blue lettering: USS Reuben James FFG-57.

  “Follow me,” Diane told her Singaporean naval escort. They stepped through the whipping breeze onto the catwalk, quickly marched over the water, and crossed the threshold onto the ship’s quarterdeck.

  Adhering to naval tradition, Diane turned sharply to her left and saluted the national colors flying off the stern, then saluted the officer of the deck.

  “Lieutenant Commander Colcernian. US naval attaché to the Republic of Indonesia. Request permission to come aboard, sir.”

  “Permission granted, ma’am.” The OOD, a US Navy lieutenant, sharply returned the salute. “The skipper’s expecting you. I’ll escort you to the bridge.”

  “Very well.”

  They walked along the starboard gunwale, then left, up another ladder, to the entrance of the bridge. “Skipper, Commander Colcernian has arrived.”

  “Commander.” The handsome sea captain nodded. “I’m Captain Shugert. Welcome aboard. Congratulations on your new job.” He reached out to shake her hand. “I hear your buddy, Commander Brewer, has a similar post here in Singapore.”

  “Thank you, sir. For Zack, the job’s been in the works for a while. For me, it was late-breaking. Three days ago, I was headed to the Naval Academy to teach military law. Now, well, you know our mantra. We go wherever and whenever the navy calls.”

  “You’ve got that right, Commander,” Captain Shugert said. “Well, I know you’re not here to tour another Hazard-class frigate. So let’s get down to business. I understand we’ve got some bodies you wanted to see before they’re off-loaded.”

  Diane nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand two are Indonesian.”

  “Right.” The skipper lifted a mug of black coffee just under his nose and took a whiff. “And the other two, well, put it this way. I think you’ll be in for a big surprise.” Shugert raised his black, bushy eyebrows and took a swig.

  “You’ve aroused my curiosity. Could we see?”

  Shugert set the mug down. “You sure? They’re shot up bad. If you want, we can bring out the evidence bag. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  It was still a man’s navy. The rugged, handsome sea captain, offering to protect a lady, even a lady officer, from a gruesome sight.

  “Thanks, Skipper. I’ve seen worse. Remember? I was once a hostage. I’ve seen it all.”

  Shugert nodded. “Fine, Commander. Suit yourself.”

  A few minutes later, they entered the ship’s sick bay. Diane’s stomach twisted. All four were laid out on stretchers. Their faces were only somewhat recognizable.

  “Odd,” the skipper said. “They all had IDs on them. Like they wanted us to know who they are.”

  “Terrorists love taking credit for murder,” Diane said, “even in death.”

  “The two on the left are Indonesian,” Shugert said.

  “I can see that,” Diane said. “They look southeast Asian.”

  “But the two on the right. Guess their nationality?”

  “Not sure,” Diane said. “A bit brown-skinned, but definitely not African. Maybe Indian or Middle Eastern?”

  “Check this.” Shugert handed Diane two plastic cards, about the size of a standard driver’s license.

  United States Armed Forces

  Service Member Identification Card

  Moore, Rahim

  SR, USN

  241-97-5910

  United States Armed Forces

  Service Member Identification Card

  Abdul, Shamu

  AN3, USN

  241-97-5910

  “They’re ours!” Diane said.

  “Apparently so.” Shugert winced. “Here’s what we know from NCIS. They’re both stationed on board USS Abraham Lincoln. Both have thirty days’ leave. Both just started their leave.”

  “Where’s the Lincoln now?”

  “The Indian Ocean,” he said. “Near Diego Garcia.”

  Diane checked her watch. “Skipper, a marine courier from our embassy here in Singapore will come and collect the evidence. I just spoke with Ambassador Griffith, and I’m recommending that we hold all four bodies and the evidence at the US embassy here until Washington gets this sorted out. Since Lieutenant Commander Brewer is the new naval attaché to Singapore, he’ll be your point of contact while you’re in port.” She extended her hand. “Sir, I appreciate the hospitality, but it looks like I need to catch a flight to the Indian Ocean.”

  She released the captain’s firm grip, then as they stepped out onto the ship’s fantail, popped a sharp salute. “Permission to go ashore, sir.”

  “Permission granted.” He dropped the salute. “Take care of yourself, Diane. And be safe.”

  The Altair Voyager

  Near the Strait of Malacca

  1:50 p.m.

  How strangely quiet it was-blue-green, a white hue at the horizon, stretching forever eastward.

  A gull hovered in the sky, a visible reminder that the endless water would soon give way to the jagged contours of the Indonesian coastline and the mammoth island of Sumatra. A school of dolphins leaped in graceful unison about a hundred yards off the starboard. There was little breeze.

  The weather was as it was centuries ago, when sailing ships of old got stuck in the water, in the midst of a vast ocean, paralyzed by windless doldrums, their crews fighting scurvy, needing fresh water, with nowhere to go. If his were a sailing ship, he would be dead in the water. But his was an oil tanker.

  At this moment Captain Fred Eichenbrenner wished that the ship he was piloting was a sailing ship-that they could stop, at least for a moment, here in the Andaman Sea, in the eastern sector of the Indian Ocean, and wait.

  With only sails and no wind, he’d have a legitimate excuse for stopping. His employers could not complain.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  The news had spread all over the ship-to-ship radio networks. Two tankers burning off Singapore. Another attack attempted in the straits. As captain of a Chevron oil tanker, he was a prime target.

  The US Navy had promised him an escort through the Malaccan Straits, courtesy of the guided missile frigate USS Ingraham.

  Here though, in the Andaman Sea just outside the straits, he was vulnerable to strike by small craft. It would be a reach, but still, they could strike from Sumatra, from the Andaman and Nicobar Islands to his west, or more likely, from the tip of Muslim Sumatra to his south, or from anywhere on the Malay Peninsula to his east.

  He would be safe on the open seas, they said.

  Maybe they were right.

  Maybe they weren’t.

  Eichenbrenner brought his binoculars down. Why was he in this business? This was no place for a family man. The sea was a jealous mistress.

  He’d lost his wife in a divorce five years ago. Her name was Sadie. He’d loved her with all his being.

  It happened while he was out on a four-month cruise traversing the Pacific. Sadie found a younger man, an accountant, of all people, while working out at the gym. But the marriage was not a total failure.

  Dana and Laura. They had come by surprise. Eight years ago. The twins were named for each of their grandmothers. Born carrot tops, each bore haunting blue eyes and rosy smiles.

  When he brought them porcelain dolls from Shanghai, stuffed kangaroos from Australia, and handmade beaded jewelry from India, their eyes sparkled like the stars of the Milky Way on a clear, moonless night.

  He would’ve given up the sea for their sake. He had struggled. The decision was hard.

  The sea was who he was.

  The sea made him unique as a father.

  The sea was part of what they loved about him.

  And despite his ex’s obsession
with Mr. Bleach-Blond, Part-It-Down-the-Middle Man, the silver lining was this: her self-absorption with Charles Atlas meant more time for Fred with his twins. Though Sadie was too proud to admit it, fact is, the kids imposed on her time with her new lover.

  That meant quality time with the girls when he was ashore.

  They were the lights of his life. Last summer, they’d spent a week at Disneyland, camped at Yosemite, and visited San Diego. They took in Sea World, the Wild Animal Park, and the San Diego Zoo.

  Enough reminiscing.

  “How far to the rendezvous point with USS Ingraham?” The captain shouted this question to his first mate, between two satisfying drags of nicotine-saturated tobacco smoke.

  “About two hours, Skipper.”

  Eichenbrenner cursed, then dropped the cigarette.

  They were out there.

  Somewhere.

  He knew it in his gut.

  This day reminded him of 9/11. That day, they were after airplanes. Today…they were after ships.

  Eichenbrenner struck another cigarette. “Steady as she goes,” he said. The smoke in his lungs calmed his nerves, but not his stomach. If he were a praying man, this would be the time to bow his head. But the sea dog was not into prayer. Maybe his luck would hold out for a couple of more hours.

  New York Mercantile Exchange

  2:55 a.m.

  Robert Molster sat back and sipped more coffee. Had he done the right thing? He had called the chairman, but his boss hadn’t seemed overly concerned, just told Bob to call again if anything else developed.

  Yes, the two limit moves were unusual, but it could’ve been anything. Probably coincidence. Things were calm now.

  Robert took a pinch from the whole-grain muffin to help quell the late-night munchies.

  He decided to check his email. He tapped the keyboard on the computer attached to the internet. The screen awakened. AOL headlines streamed across the screen. Multiple Attacks Against Oil Tankers in Singapore! Luxury Hotel Burning! US Navy Foils One Attack!

  He clicked on the links and started reading.

  “Wait a minute,” he said.

  He went back and checked his tapes to compare the time of the attacks against the graphs showing the start of the two limit moves.