it clear to Dazhou that he was there; this was no doubt his intention, as the commander never lost an opportunity to demonstrate his superiority to his underlings. Finally, after he had waited for nearly twenty minutes, Dazhou was shown into the office. Udara pretended to be reading some report, making a show of frowning before looking up and pointing to the paper.
‘You exceeded your authority,’ said Udara.
‘The Barracuda had to be tested. The target presented itself. The opportunity was taken. It coincides with our greater plans and schedule.’
‘You think it is all that simple,’ snapped Udara. ‘You think you can use the cover of events to indulge your psychological needs. We had to divert two aircraft to take the attention away from you.’
‘Why?’ asked Dazhou.
‘The radio reports back to the Brunei air force center showed they were pursuing a craft. We could not afford discovery.’
‘Which aircraft?’ asked Dazhou.
‘Part of our project,’ said the general dismissively. ‘You do not need to know every detail.’
Dazhou held his tongue. He could easily guess that the general was referring to the Sukhois that had been brought three months ago to the base in the northern mountains; Dazhou had informers in the military who had told him how the planes had been purchased from the Ukrainians and then shipped in pieces and reassembled. They were necessary for the ‘project,’ as Udara dismissively termed it, but using them to cover the Barracuda’s escape had been unnecessary. Still, he knew better than to argue with the general, who commanded all Malaysian military forces on Borneo. While Dazhou had first suggested the alliance with the terrorists to achieve their common aim, it was General Udara who had made it possible, and he wielded such power that Dazhou could not cross him.
Yet.
‘I expect from the reports that the vessel worked,’ said Udara.
‘Precisely as predicted.’
‘You are ready to proceed?’
‘Upon your order.’
It was the note Udara had been waiting for. His manner changed; he smiled and leaned back in his seat.
‘You are tired after your journey?’ said the general.
‘No.’
‘Something to eat?’
‘No thank you, sir.’
‘How long will the sultan fend off the terrorists?’
‘Without our help, the terrorists will struggle for weeks,’ said Dazhou. ‘If we help them, the sultan and his puppet government may last twelve hours.’
Another smile. Udara rose. He took a few steps away from his desk, filling the room with pompous swagger. ‘The messenger is here?’
‘He is.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I do not know.’
‘The secretary said he was a child.’
‘He is young, but not that young. I would say in his twenties. With these fanatics, it is difficult to say sometimes.’
‘Does he have information about the connection to Afghanistan?’
‘I thought it best not to interrogate him without your authority,’ said Dazhou, who in truth was not in the least interested in the Islamic crazies and their network of madmen. He wanted only to eliminate the bastard sultan of Brunei, whose family had seized his ancestors’ property two generations ago, casting them into poverty. At long last, the wrong would be avenged.
‘If we give the terrorists Brunei, how long do you think they will be satisfied?’ the general asked.
‘I do not think it would be long,’ said Dazhou. ‘And it is irrelevant.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the general. ‘Quite irrelevant.’
Whether the terrorists would be satisfied with controlling Brunei or not, the Malaysian government would not allow the terrorists to control their neighbor for very long. On the contrary – one of the attractions of the plan was that it would allow them not only to crush the terrorists and seize oil-rich Brunei, but to receive ASEAN backing to do so. Once the sultan was kicked out and the terrorists in control, the Malaysian military would turn on its allies of convenience. Dazhou had already drawn up plans to do so.
But those operations were in the future. For now, they had to concentrate on Brunei.
Udara went back to his desk and picked up the phone. ‘Have our visitor fetched from the room and brought to me,’ he told his assistant.
Sahurah sat on the floor of the empty room, trying to keep his mind ready. Again and again it drifted. He saw the girl he had had in Beaufort, the other in Sandakan. Beautiful, beautiful girls – temptations from the time before his commitment, sins, and yet he couldn’t banish them.
He owed the true God his complete attention, especially now, especially here on this mission. He should see himself as God’s trusted messenger – for as the imam’s emissary what else was he? And yet the impure thoughts haunted him, hungry ghosts clawing to be fed. The flesh was a terrible chain, an awesome torment. He would be better to be rid of it, gone to paradise.
He was a coward, a coward and a failure. That was the lesson of the miscarried plans on the beach. He should have shot the infidel devils the moment he saw them, rather than hesitating.
Sahurah was not exactly sure where on Borneo he had been taken. The men who rode with him in the jeep had blindfolded him three separate times, including the last hour. He guessed he was on the northern part of the island, in the Malaysian region known as Sabah, but in truth he could have been in the south or in Indonesian territory as well. He thought he had detected the scent of seawater on the breeze as he was led from the Jeep, but it had been fleeting.
A soldier opened the door and nodded at him. Sahurah got up and followed him down the hallway. They went up two flights of carpeted stairs, past walls made of polished stone with elaborate inlays. The walls had once been lined with sculpture, but the niches were now bare.
The soldier stopped and turned in front of a wide doorway lined with an elaborate molding. Inside, Sahurah found a young man at the desk. He gave Sahurah a disapproving frown, then picked up his phone.
‘Go,’ the man at the desk told him in Malaysian. ‘And be quick about it.’
Sahurah gathered his dignity and walked into the room at his most deliberate pace. He was a messenger and a representative, not to be treated without respect.
Dazhou was inside, sitting in a simple wooden chair. Behind the desk was a short, skinny man in a military uniform. He was nearly bald, his face the red color of ruby glistening in the sun. Sahurah believed that the man was either the army general who commanded Malaysian forces on Borneo, or one of his immediate underlings. He had seen the pictures some time ago and couldn’t remember precisely which one he was. He stared at the man
