Wilkes gave the captain a thumb’s up. This was slick. Getting in unannounced and in double time was the major issue. ‘What about getting us out?’ he asked, another concern on a long list of them.

‘Okay, that’s a bit trickier. The only place we know of for sure where there’s enough space to put the V22 down is the area cleared by the 747. We’ll make that our RV, unless you tell us different when you call us back in. Transmit the coordinates indicated on your GPS and set off a TACBE when we’re two minutes out. We’ll track in on that. We’ll let you know when to turn it on.

‘This bird can get in and out pretty damn quick. Once we get you and your guests secured, we’ll make for the USS Pellieu, an MLP cruising in the Celebes. We’ll be no more than an hour away. And don’t forget you can call in those Super Hornets on fifteen minutes notice, maybe less. You need anything, just ask,’ said the captain, smiling.

Wilkes returned the good news with another thumb’s up. He let his head fall back against the padded headrest. He set his internal clock to wake him in an hour and ten, allowing time to go over the refreshed intel before arriving at the LZ. Within two minutes he was asleep. Sleep was good for stress. Two of his men were already snoring.

Jakarta, 0655 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

Achmad Reza allowed his eyes to drift over the Dewan Perwakilan Rakjat Daerah, the People’s Assembly of Indonesia. He knew all the men and women in the giant hall by reputation. It was his business to know them. Quite a few were known to him socially, even some outside his own party. Many of the men and women in the house had chosen a career in politics because they had wanted to do some good. A significant number had lost sight of the ambitions of their youth. For these the party itself had become the focus, rather than the desire to achieve something beneficial for Indonesia. Reza had little time for them.

Reza had absolutely no time, however, for the parliamentarians who enjoyed and sought power for its own sake from the very beginning. An outsider might think that the latter group contained all the military men who, by law, occupied thirty-five percent of the seats in the Indonesian parliament. But that was not, in fact, the case. In the course of his career, he had met many soldiers whose politics, and whose loyalty to the people of Indonesia, he had admired. But a dangerous game was being played here. He had absolutely no idea what that game was, why it was being played, or by whom, but his gut told him that when the answers to those questions were known, Indonesia would never be the same again.

Reza sat quietly in his seat. So far, proceedings had been taken up with the military’s explanation of the inter-regimental squabbling and the exchange of fire in the streets of Jakarta that morning. It was a waste of time, but unavoidable. What should have been the focus were issues like finding ways to ease the ethnic tensions in Kalimantan, or even fixing the deplorable lack of sewage treatment in southern Sumatra because it was adversely affecting the fish catch. That was what government was really about; improving the lives of the people, not wasting time putting the personalities within the military establishment under the microscope. But perhaps this time it was necessary.

He listened attentively to the claims and counterclaims. He sat with the bombshell in his lap, drummed his fingers on the plain brown A4-size envelope, and waited his turn.

He wondered who had sent him the envelope in the first place and why he had been chosen. Everything about this was a mystery to him. He knew he was being used but somehow that didn’t seem to matter so much. If anything, it had increased his interest. He was a little-known politician from the Gille Isles. He had no weight, no influence. But the envelope on his lap might well change all that.

He wondered about his own motives and was brought back to reality by a dig in his ribs. He glanced at the owner of the elbow and met an impatient gaze. His name was being called. Again. He stood and uttered the usual pleasantries. He then removed the bomb from its envelope and dropped it.

‘This morning I took possession of this, a satellite photograph of the Australian Qantas aeroplane that has been missing these past couple of days. It’s shown here crashed on a ridge line. The time indicated on the photograph is 12.30 pm local time yesterday. The latitude and longitude are also shown, placing the crash in central Sulawesi —’ Everyone in the DPRD was now on their feet, shouting. At the top of his voice, he yelled above the chaos, ‘It is due to be released to the Australian media within the next fifteen minutes. My question to the house is why has the crash site been kept a secret from the people of Indonesia, and the people of Australia?’