The screen. The power button. He punched it. The screen came alive. In bold, black letters, THE MALACCA PLAN stared at him.

“What in the name of Allah!”

“Is everything all right, Captain?” Madina called from the kitchen.

“Yes, of course,” Taplus lied. “Just a little spill.”

“Need some help?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

The truth was, his eyes were witnessing the potential downfall of his career. Perhaps even worse. Perhaps even a court-martial for dereliction of duty.

His mind raced as he imagined the worst-case scenarios. Stripped of his command. Stripped of his rank. Perhaps even execution.

This started last night when Dr. Budi volunteered his new suggestion for the assassination of Santos. The general and others proclaimed Budi’s plan to be “brilliant.”

After toasting the doctor and his bravery and his genius, the general had ordered Captain Taplus to open the Malacca file to record the modification of the plan. No longer would Perkasa loyalists stage a military coup against Santos. Budi would do it himself. Taplus had recorded the change just as the general had ordered.

But apparently, the file had not been closed out. Under no circumstances should that file have ever been left open. This was a security breach of unforgivable magnitude. Even though the general had ordered him to open the file, he was responsible for closing it and locking it down with the proper security codes. The general might not be so understanding.

How did this happen? Taplus racked his brain, trying to retrace the events. Another toast to Budi was proposed as soon as the entry had been transcribed and read back to the members of the Alliance.

Taplus himself had stood up and turned around to raise his glass to toast the doctor. Liquor flowed. The general launched into a longwinded speech, praising the doctor and bragging about what they would do with the many millions of dollars they all now had.

The long speech was punctuated by several more toasts, Taplus recalled, all of which he was required to drink to, to the delightful merriment of the group.

Perkasa had then slapped everyone on the back, adjourned the meeting, and sent everyone home. But because the general was slurring and staggering by this point, Taplus walked with him up the stairs, guiding him, just to make sure he did not fall.

By that time, the screensaver must have come on the computer, and Taplus forgot that the top-secret file had been left open, lurking just a space bar’s tap under the screensaver.

What to do?

“Think quickly, Hassan!” Protocol required that all breaches of top secret information be reported immediately.

But had there really been any leaks of information? Who would ever know? No one had been in the house since he left.

Except…

Except Madina.

Madina? She would never go into the general’s study. Or would she? Did she not just volunteer a second ago to help him clean it up?

No way could she have seen the report. If she had, her voice would not have been so naturally flirtatious. She could not be that good of an actress. Or was this the reason she was getting so frisky? What if she was a double agent working for Santos?

He sat at the computer, closed the file, and typed in the security codes to block its access.

What the general did not know could not hurt him.

As for Madina, he would have to decide how he was going to deal with her.

Paya Lebar Air Base

Singapore

8:00 a.m.

The US Navy C-130 Hercules taxied to the staging area at the end of the runway. Its four propellor engines spun in a shrill whine.

From her jump seat behind the cockpit area, Lieutenant Commander Diane Colcernian looked out the window at the rising sun, floating as a large, orange ball just inches over the horizon. A giant Royal Air Force C-17 Globemaster, the outline of its fuselage reflecting an orange tinge, was just in front of the Hercules.

“Strapped in, Commander?” the pilot’s voice squawked in her ear.

Diane pressed the Talk button. “Roger that, Lieutenant,” she said to the pilot.

“Got your life jacket, ma’am?”

“Check,” she said. “Not worried about anything, are you, Lieutenant?”

“No, ma’am,” the copilot said. “Just checklist procedures. We’ve got twenty-four hundred miles of ocean to cross. That’s more than I can drink.”

Diane smiled. “Just watched that movie Castaway on DVD last week. Great timing.”

“Hollywood.” The pilot shook his head. “We’ll be fine, Commander. I’ll bet that FedEx pilot was ex-air force. We’re navy. We’re used to flying over water. I’ve not dropped one of these birds in the ocean yet.”

“That’s comforting, Lieutenant.” She checked her watch as the engines roared louder and the C-130 rolled forward. “What’s our ETA?”

“We’re first in line after the Limey gets airborne.” Limey was a phrase that members of the US Navy sometimes affectionately used to describe members of the Royal Navy and other members of the British military. “After that,” the pilot continued, “depending on tailwinds, about four-and-a-half hours.”

Whooosshhhh. The long roar of four Pratt & Whitney turbofan jets pushed the RAF cargo jet skyward, leaving a trail of black smoke as it nosed upwards.

“Where are they headed?” Diane asked, as the big bird climbed off to the east, in the direction of the sun.

“Same place we’re going,” the pilot said. “But they’ll get there sooner. Jets versus props.”

“We’ve been cleared for takeoff,” the pilot said.

Diane sat back. A moment later, the C-130 lifted off, then banked to the left. It flew across the city, heading toward the Singapore Strait.

Down below, black oil lapped everywhere upon the once-white beaches. Hundreds of birds could be seen stuck in oil, some still alive and struggling, hundreds of others dead.

The plane crossed Sentosa Island, and over the edge of the jet-black Singapore Strait.

The Hercules banked again to the right, now headed west over the strait. Diane looked to her left at the city of Singapore with its mix of dazzling skyscrapers, colorful flowers, and swaying palm trees. Overnight, it had been transformed into the worst urban environmental disaster of the modern age.

She squinted her gaze back across Sentosa. The island was starting to disappear from view. Behind the island, back across the bay in the lush green somewhere, was the old British hospital.

Somewhere, he was down there. Her Zack. Handsome as a movie star with that dimple, stubborn as a mule on his granddaddy’s farm in North Carolina. Knowing him, he had gone AWOL. Part of her wished he would. She missed him already.

They’d been together at the Justice School, and in San Diego, then briefly in Washington. And now this? Was this their fate? To forever be teased with brief moments together, then to be subjected to forced separation again? Would it ever end?

The navy. She was a cruel taskmaster. A jealous lover indeed.

Perhaps one day.

She looked out again and saw that Singapore had disappeared. Now, there was nothing but water. At least it was blue water.

The plane entered a steep climb. Diane closed her eyes, pictured Zack’s rugged face, and wondered when she would see him again.

Then she remembered that she had a job to do.

Jakarta Air Base

Indonesia

8:50 a.m.

The early morning shower had waned to a muggy mist. Between the dissipating cloud cover, the sun’s rays were starting to poke through.

Captain Hassan Taplus popped down the sun visor, clicked the windshield wiper to the off position, then tapped the brake pedal. The Mercedes, bearing the flag of the army chief of staff on the front left hood and the flag of a four-star general on the right, slowed as it approached the main gate of the Jakarta Air Base.