Operation Golden Dawn
morsel before revealing the main course.“And what does he report?” Liu Pen asked quietly.
There was the barest hint of exasperation in the General’s voice. The three other officers, seated around the polished wood table sat upright. These men, General Liu Pen’s personal staff, sensed the danger. The briefer was trying the General’s patience and he was not known as a patient man.
“He reports that the mission was successful,” the briefer droned on. “Mustaf al Shatar received the warning and escaped the Israeli/American ambush. He has safely arrived at the desert camp. He is blaming the PLO for betraying him, apparently as an attempt to remove him as a political threat to Arafat’s power. Mustaf has taken charge and broken all ties with the PLO. He is attempting to establish his own operation. From all indications, he suspects nothing of our involvement.”
Liu Pen turned to his Chief of Staff, a squat, fat little man with beady black eyes, who squirmed at the General’s direct gaze.
Liu Pen held his stare for the barest second before he said, “Have our friend offer Mustaf all the support he wants. We want him deeply dependent on our assistance. Then we will steer him toward our Indonesian operation.”
The Chief of Staff nodded and broke into a half smile as he answered, “A perfect match. Bring the Moslem terrorist in to help the Islamic revolution.”
He templed his fingers in front of his face. His black eyes beamed out over the tips as he continued. “I shall, of course, hide our presence. The disruption will panic the West.”
“But the West are our friends,” Liu Pen retorted sarcastically. “Haven’t you been paying attention to the new world order? We are all friends now. We live in a time of peaceful cooperation.”
His smile shifted to a serious grimace. “Let Mustaf know where his aid is coming from. The man has a pathological hatred for America. He will need to know most of the plan before we can use him. But not all.”
The briefer cleared his throat. “May I continue, General?”
“Do you have more drivel that demands my time?” Liu Pen shot back, the heat of his voice betraying the General’s annoyance.
“Just one more item,” the briefer stuttered, taken aback by the blast. “Our new agent is in place. She arrived in Hawaii from Los Angeles two days ago. She will make contact with our target asset in a few days.”
Liu Pen nodded and rose. It was a signal that the briefing was over. The briefer gathered his notes and scurried out of the room, followed by the rest of the staff.
Just as the Chief of Staff reached the door, General Liu Pen called him back. “Two more things for you to do. First, develop a plan to have Mustaf al Shatar meet Admiral Suluvana. We need them to start working together quickly. Time is not on our side.”
The Chief of Staff nodded and asked, “And the second thing?”
“That briefer. Get him out of here. I’m thinking command of a border crossing somewhere in the Gobi Desert should be just about suitable for his talents.”
07 Aug 1998, 1315LT (0215Z)
Admiral Suluvana grasped the rail and braced his legs against the ship’s gentle roll. It felt good to be back at sea again, even if he felt like super-cargo on this new frigate. The starboard bridge-wing of a warship was where he belonged. The sea air blowing through his hair and the afternoon sun warming his skin were just the right combination for a sailor.
The short, middle-aged Indonesian admiral pulled the blue ball cap a little lower so that the scrambled egg encrusted brim shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare. Long exposure to salt and sea spray weathered his face to the color and texture of old leather. Years of squinting into the sun carved deep furrows in his brow.
The sea was an unbelievable cerulean that only existed in the deep waters of the tropics. The warm air brought a salt tang to Suluvana’s nostrils with just the spicy hint of exotic islands. It was a great day to be at sea.
Suluvana glanced around for a minute. This was the finest ship to ever fly his flag. The Salawal and her three sisters joined the Indonesian Navy less than a year ago.
He could not quite understand why the Americans were discarding them. The American Perry class seemed ideal for the restricted Indonesian waters, small enough to safely maneuver the many intricate passages, large enough to demand respect, and with enough modern weapons and sensors to handle any contingency.
The Salawal was a manifestation of their largesse. The SSQ-56 sonar was fantastic for searching the island strewn waters for submarines, while her radar could search out and track any surface ship within fifty kilometers and any aircraft out to twice that.
The Americans sailed with the Perry class frigates for many years before finally coming to the realization that they could safely pass their much-vaunted technology on to the primitive masses. They had only recently decided that their friends in Southeast Asia should have these magnificent ships.
Suluvana well knew the Americans were using the Salawal and her sisters as a bribe to ensure Indonesia’s continued cooperation. Their secondary motive was to strengthen the current government against the threat of internal revolt.
Just the barest hint of a smile flitted across Suluvana’s dark features. The irony was delicious. The Americans were arming the very revolution they so feared. With Allah’s will, he would use their own weapons to drive the infidels from his homeland.
Suluvana strode out to the edge of the bridge wing. He grasped the rail and tensed his shoulder muscles against its unyielding steel. This was the little exercise he could