Niven’s plan was chancy and violent, but there wasn’t much time up their sleeves for subtlety. Suluang had to be on the back foot. But there were a couple of major details Niven as yet had no answers for. The first was to find a reason for the 747’s crash. It couldn’t be attributed to human error. With all the press coverage the incident had received, the public was now very well informed. The fact that aircraft didn’t just disappear from ATC screens without good reason had been widely canvassed. He saw no way around bringing Boeing into the loop. The manufacturing giant would thoroughly investigate the wreckage and the chances of it agreeing to attribute the cause of the crash to mechanical or systems failure were nil. Neither Boeing nor the world’s carriers could afford a crisis of confidence in the popular aircraft. Secondly, there was Joe and the woman — what was her name… Suryei? How to protect their identities?

‘Griff, if I remember correctly, you said that one of our people was Suluang’s lover?’

‘Well, yes…’

The CDF was so caught up in his thoughts, he failed to realise his cold had disappeared.

Jakarta, 1100 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

Sketchy news had just reached Suluang by phone of several F-16s involved in some kind of crash or mid-air collision in Sulawesi, but the report was unconfirmed. Hasanuddin AFB was in a flap. All planes were up, but they hadn’t as yet located the missing aircraft or recovered the pilots. But it wasn’t unusual to lose fighters through training accidents and other mishaps — that much he did know. Suluang wondered whether he was being hopeful or delusional. Something was wrong, definitely wrong. The 747 was located, the world was watching, and yet he was blind, attempting to plan in a vacuum.

And then there was Sergeant Marturak. Static, a distant crackling on the appointed frequency — that’s all they’d received from him when they’d tried to make contact. Marturak had not called in at the appointed time. Another missed communication meant the problems were continuing. More reasons to be anxious. Marturak had been due to report and confirm that the crash site was secured at last, meaning the two survivors had joined their fellow passengers. But that communication had not been received. What in Allah’s name was going on? There was no contingency plan because the operation had been hurriedly cobbled together and executed. Perhaps Marturak’s radios had somehow been disabled. If he heard nothing within the next hour, he would dispatch another team of Kopassus troops to the area.

The problem with that, of course, was that the net was widening. Already too many people knew too much. Sooner or later there would be a leak and that was a real danger. Masri had deserted the cause after the last get-together, lost his nerve. How many others would lose their resolve with the uncertainties building? The government’s internal security would be digging around, hunting for irregularities. Lanti Rajasa would take care of that, should it become an issue. But he wouldn’t be able to keep the dogs at bay for long. And he wouldn’t be able to help at all if their plan was revealed. Rajasa would be one of the first to be isolated, excluded from the loop. Not true, he told himself. He would be — Suluang.

General Masri still hadn’t been found. His disappearance was Suluang’s main concern. Bigger, even, than not hearing from the Kopassus, or that satellite photo. Masri could be dead, lying face down in a paddy field somewhere. Suluang hoped he was, because if he wasn’t, then he could also be somewhere talking to the wrong people. Again, he hadn’t heard anything. The hit had been ordered on Masri and the hitman had himself been killed. Masri, though, had disappeared. Vanished. And so had his driver, one of Lanti’s people. The plan, the beautiful plan, was unravelling fast. There are too many variables. Get out now! There were countries he could disappear to and live like a sultan on the money he had salted away over the years.

And yet, a competing voice told him he was panicking unnecessarily. That there was nothing to worry about. Elizabeth always had that effect on him, the ability to block out reality; a safe harbour. She’d called him forty minutes ago at the barracks to tell him that she had rented a room at a five-star hotel, and filled the bath with bubbles. She did that occasionally. Suluang had things on his mind that demanded attention, but the thought of Elizabeth naked but for lavender suds was utterly distracting. Reluctantly, after telling her he was too busy, he’d capitulated. Perhaps, he had reasoned, the diversion would do him good. One last time?