The Indonesian embassy guards raced from their checkpoint to the scene of the crash after a few seconds transfixed by disbelief. They hesitated again, vaguely fearful when they saw that the vehicle was a government one and there was much blood. Moments later the four Australian soldiers on extended guard duty following the previous day’s ruckus arrived and took charge of the scene. ‘This one’s alive,’ said a lance corporal, examining the man spread-eagled across the broken brickwork.

Sydney, 0420 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

ABC radio report: ‘The streets of Jakarta turned into a battlefield a short while ago when tanks and troops loyal to General Suluang, Indonesia’s top military man, attacked the barracks occupied by units loyal to General Kukuh Masri.

‘Observers here are surprised because Masri was regarded as one of General Suluang’s most ardent supporters. After Suluang positioned tanks at the gates of Masri’s compound, the besieged troops briefly responded with small-arms fire. Soon after, a negotiator from General Suluang’s forces convinced Masri’s troops to holster their weapons.

‘The skirmish comes as a real surprise to authorities in Jakarta. Indeed, security is tightening all over the city with helicopters patrolling the skies overhead. General Masri himself has not, so far, made an appearance and unconfirmed sources report that the officer has deserted his command. General Suluang is unavailable for comment.’

Parliament House, Canberra, 0425 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

Niven hurried to the Prime Minister’s office. It was raining in Canberra and unseasonably cold. He was coming down with the flu. Perhaps it was just the stress. Flying over Baghdad at night in a non-stealthy aircraft with tracer fanning up from the blackness below searching for his arse was nothing compared to this Commander-in-Chief gig. Niven tried to shake the germs out of his head but only succeeded in having a subsequent desperate need for a tissue to stem the outpouring from his nose. A cold had finally caught up with him.

He barged through the security station at Parliament House. It was barely five minutes since he’d received a call from Blight telling him to get to his office, pronto. Niven had nearly caused a pile-up when he’d braked in the middle of the expressway, mounting the kerb and snaking across a wet grass median strip to join the traffic heading back into the city centre.

He waved quickly to Shirley as he strode through her anteroom. ‘You’re expected, Spike. Get you anything?’

‘Thanks, Shirley. How about something for a headache? Besides a shot of single malt?’

He was through the door before she could acknowledge his request. Once inside, he noted that the team was already there — Griffin, Greenway and bloody Sharpe.

Shirley quietly entered the PM’s office and placed a tray with water, glasses and a packet of paracetamols on the sideboard. The room was dark and a videoconference call was in progress. The atmosphere was dour. She gently closed the door on her way out.

The image of Roger Bowman, the Australian Ambassador to Indonesia, filled the large rear-projected screen. Niven thought he looked tired and anxious.

‘Saw things got a bit rough for you last night,’ said the Prime Minister.

Bowman took a deep breath. ‘And it just keeps getting better, Bill. Anything come to light on QF-1 at your end?’

The men in Canberra exchanged glances. From the ambassador’s body language, it was obvious that he had news.

‘What you got there, Roger?’ asked Blight.

‘Do any of you know a General Masri? He’s often referred to as “Mao”.’

‘Yes,’ said Griffin. ‘He’s one of the TNI’s major league players.’

Bowman nodded and continued. ‘There was an attempt on his life earlier today. His wife was shot dead. The man’s car crashed through our front gates here in Jakarta a short time ago.’ The ambassador took a sip of water, his hand shaking so badly that water slopped over the brim.

Niven and Griffin exchanged worried glances.

‘When we picked him off the pavement, Masri babbled something about being part of a group led by General Suluang that shot our plane down. He also said that a Kopassus unit was at the crash scene hunting down survivors.’

The room in Canberra was suddenly in an uproar.

Niven felt like he’d been slapped. Here was confirmation of the NSA’s belief that QF-1 had been shot down. That was bad enough! But putting troops into the area to finish off any survivors?! It was unthinkable. ‘What? To kill them?!’ he said, aghast.

‘Apparently.’

‘Mother in hell!’ exclaimed Blight.

‘Do you know how many people that is?’ asked Niven.

‘Masri said there were two.’

‘Jesus!’ said Sharpe, head swimming.

‘Did he say why the plane was shot down?’ Niven asked, surprised at his own calmness. Perhaps because he’d prepared himself for the worst, he was better equipped to cope with it.