The Fifth Season (51 page)

For several minutes they remained locked together, each slipping back slowly from their heights of ecstasy as the sky overhead became brighter with the first traces of false dawn.

‘Thanks, Jo,' Hamish said, softly, and they kissed, this time tenderly and held each other as lovers do after those moments of release. Mary Jo slipped her arms around his firm waist, moving her body teasingly against his.

‘What do you think, cowboy?' she asked, laughingly. Her hands moved to encourage Hamish but this was not to be so. Mary Jo turned, startled, when she heard her name being called.

‘Mary Jo,' Anne's voice pierced the early morning silence, ‘the driver's waiting. You'll be late!'

‘I'm coming,' she called back, with nowhere to turn. Hamish spotted the Indonesian woman first as he climbed out of the pool, cursing for for-getting to bring a towel. He heard Mary Jo giggle, then follow.

‘Wait for me upstairs,' she shouted across the pool. Anne had been too embarrassed to approach any further, having been informed by staff where Mary Jo might be. The early starters were all standing in the shadows on the second level, discussing the foreigners, having observed them from the moment they first entered the pool. Anne had checked Mary Jo's room, then downstairs, becoming agitated when she had not located the woman as it was already well past four.

The couple dressed quickly and hurried up to the foyer where Anne waited, equipment at hand. Five minutes later, after a brief exchange, she left Hamish standing alone in the foyer annoyed that she could still consider venturing out to the refugee fleet alone.

* * * *

Abdul Muis examined the report received not minutes before, exhilarated by its contents. His
Mufti Muharam
now controlled all of Sukabumi and its surrounds, their successes paid for in the currency of life and blood.

With General Praboyo's death, the Moslem army had easily destroyed the remnants of his final stronghold in hours. Having occupied Bandung, they then drove General Winarko's troops back to Bogor and onto Jakarta.

With more than two-thirds of Java now under his control, Muis' forces concentrated on cleaning up isolated pockets of resistance, consolidating their positions in preparation for the final assault on the capital.

In Sumatra, all of Aceh and most of the south had fallen to friendly forces. The Christian Batak soldiers had offered fierce resistance and Muis had sent word to the Moslem factions to delay, until he could send reinforcements from Java. As for the rest of the Indonesian archipelago, civil war continued to rage between opposing ethnic and religious groups, and Abdul Muis was obliged to admit silently that, at the end of the day, the
Mufti Muharam
might be obliged to be satisfied with control of just Java and Sumatra.

Fighting along Bali's shores had been swift and bloody. The
Mufti
Muharam
had been unable to secure a foothold on the island, even with air support. Across the string of islands to Irian Jaya, the story had been the same. Christian militia had taken control over Timor, Ambon, Flores, and Jayapura. In the north, control over Menado continued to change hands as the opposing forces there battled on and along the coastal reaches of Kalimantan, most mosques had been torched by Dayaks with tens of thousands of Moslems unaccounted for in these southern districts of Borneo.

It was Muis' intention to return to contest these areas once the two major population centers of Java and Sumatra had fallen into his hands.

Then he would mobilize in the east with his massive following and retake the delinquent, breakaway Christian strongholds, taking the fight as far as the Philippines, when the time was ripe and Islamic Indonesia was adequately armed to stand against those who would see its destruction.

He would rebuild the economy and the country's infrastructure.

Petro-dollars would be utilized to strengthen the military and advance the Republic, providing advanced technology and skills to the Indonesian people in their quest for better lives guided by the hand of Allah, The One and True God. The children of Indonesia would grow in mind, body and spirit and become as one, safe from the adulterated mix of Christian-spawned beliefs.

Now, as his dream approached reality, Muis became impatient to take the capital, the last bastion to afford shelter to his enemies. The government's forces were still significant in strength and although tainted with the Suhapto brush, international support remained with the quietly spoken general who had recently assumed the role of President, and now stubbornly refused to consider the possibility of defeat. Muis' forces had been most unfortunate not to capture Praboyo's wife and children before they fled Bandung. He had hoped for this leverage against Winarko, now guardian over both the Suhapto and Hababli families, whose fortunes were essential to the Moslem leader's long-term strategies.

Muis' one remaining question was whether General Winarko was prepared to commit his remaining forces in a fight to the end, or would he compromise and deal with the equally powerful
Mufti Muharam?
Winarko still controlled the navy and most of the air force. Army divisions loyal to the General were of sufficient strength to carry the fighting through another year. The question was whether many of the soldiers would want to continue their war against fellow Muslims, and Abdul Muis was counting on mass defections once his troops had occupied Bogor and the smaller but heavily fortified towns of Serang and Purwakarta. He firmly believed that once his army was in a position to threaten Jakarta, Winarko's remaining forces would crumble quickly.

Then, and only then, could his dream of an Islamic state be realized.

In the meantime, his forces would continue to crush any remaining resistance, driving those not of his faith into the surrounding seas.

* * * *

The phone's incessant ringing finally woke Hamish from a deep, satisfying sleep. He groped for the receiver, struggling to read the bedside clock.

Once Mary Jo had disappeared in her jeep he had decided to catch up on a few hours before meeting with Peter and the others in the UNHCR

team.

321

Kerry B. Collison

‘Is that you, Mister Hamish?' The shrill voice belonged to the U.N.

interpreter. ‘The pilot has received your message and wishes to talk to you.

Can you come down? He says it's urgent.'

‘Is Mister Peter there?'

‘No, Mister Hamish. I have just spoken to him and he asked me to wake you all.' Hamish rolled his wrist, checking his Seiko against the bedside clock. It was past eight o'clock. He had slept for more than three hours but from the gritty, sour taste in his mouth, he knew his body needed more.

‘Okay, I'll be down in ten minutes,' he said, replacing the phone. Hamish rose, stretched, then walked to the windows and opened the curtains.

The morning sun's reflected brilliance blinded, forcing him to shield his eyes. Hamish lowered himself to the carpeted floor, easing slowly into his customary, early-morning calisthenics and, having completed these, hit the shower. Fifteen minutes later he swung by his associate's room and the two men rode down to the lobby together, providing Hamish with the opportunity to brief Peter concerning Mary Jo and her assistant Anne.

‘It's okay by me,' the other man had said. ‘Pity we hadn't known yesterday. Had she taken a quick ride out to the boats in the afternoon, we might have been able to get away a little earlier. Still, I don't mind waiting the few extra hours.' As team leader, Hamish was obliged to clear this request with him, before discussing the matter with the pilot.

They entered the coffee shop where the others were waiting, the mood amongst the team obviously pensive from their somber expressions.

‘What's up?' Peter asked. One of the other men nodded in the pilot's direction.

‘Better ask him,' he answered, then folded his arms and leaned back to listen.

‘First of all, we could take the two additional passengers, providing they don't have any luggage. It's a bit tight but we burned off enough fuel getting here to accommodate the extra weight. Are they ready to leave?'

he asked.

‘Not until eleven, perhaps twelve,' Hamish replied. The pilot's face became more serious.

‘Where have they gone?' he asked, looking directly at Hamish.

‘The American lady has gone out to the fishing-fleet,' he said, his concern rising. ‘Why? Is there a problem?' The pilot breathed in heavily and nodded.

‘Most of the hotel staff have disappeared. Their families came about an hour ago, lifted whatever they could, then left.' Hamish did not quite understand the significance of this, waiting for the man to continue. One of the others in his team jumped in.

‘Tell him the rest,' he snapped, looking at the pilot.

‘We should leave as well,' the pilot advised, agitated. ‘According to the staff, Pelabuhan Ratu is in danger of being overrun by advancing troops.

I have just been out to my radio listening to traffic. Seems they are right.

The
Mufti Muharam
rebels are occupying the fishing port area as we speak.' For a moment his statement hung in the air before cold realization struck.

‘If you want my vote, we should leave now.' This from an unshaven member of their group who, until that moment, had remained quiet, listening. ‘As for waiting for the others, this is, after all, a U.N. team effort and shouldn't be compromised.' Hamish glared at the surly faced man, then turned to the team leader.

‘Peter, let me go out in the chopper and see if I can get Mary Jo to return now,' he asked. But while Peter was considering their dilemma, the pilot interjected.

‘Mister Hamish, I'm sorry, but we don't carry any slings, we wouldn't be able to lift her out of there. Even if we had floats, I still couldn't land out there. It's a lot rougher than you'd think that far offshore.'

‘We'll drop her a note warning her of what's happening.'

‘Christ, Hamish, you'd never find her amongst that lot!' Peter added.

‘How about I give it a try, anyway,' he pleaded. ‘I'll fly out with the pilot and see if we can spot her and get her attention. She's sure to realize something's wrong and return immediately.'

‘What do you think?' Peter asked the pilot.

‘If we go now, it might be okay. My suggestion is you all wait out there by the heli-pad and we'll take a run out to the fleet and back.' The pilot then looked Hamish directly in the eye. ‘Where is the Indonesian girl, Anne?'

The realization that Anne would be waiting somewhere along the beach amongst a multitude of panic-driven refugees suddenly struck Hamish in the pit of his stomach.

‘She'll be waiting somewhere along the beach, wherever Mary Jo caught her lift.'

‘Does she have transport?' Peter asked.

‘Yes, they had a jeep and driver.'

‘Then, unless she's smart enough to get out of there and return within the next thirty minutes or so, we'll have to leave her behind,' Peter declared and Hamish knew the man was right. His mind raced, looking for a solution.

‘If we're going, Mister Hamish, we should leave now,' the pilot warned and Hamish nodded, rising to his feet.

‘Okay,' he said, ‘let's go,' rising to his feet. ‘We won't be long, Peter,' he promised.

‘We'll be waiting outside when you get back.'

‘Fine,' Hamish said, then turned and placed his hand on the pilot's shoulder. ‘I just need to get something from my room,' he said, and hurried out into the lobby.

‘I'll wait in the chopper,' the pilot called. Hamish cursed the hotel staff for having left the generators unattended as he jogged across the marble floor. Hamish started the grueling climb back to his room, via the fire stairwell. He took the steps, two at a time, the punishing effort sending his heart racing wildly, breathless before he reached halfway. He reached the top floor and staggered into his room. He grabbed a few items, wrapped these inside his swimmers and ran back down the concrete steps to the lobby and outside to where the pilot waited, the helicopter's blades already turning slowly in readiness.

He climbed inside the Jet Ranger and they were airborne within seconds, heading out to sea towards the fleet anchored some fifteen nautical miles to the east of the Samudera Beach Hotel where, half an hour before, all hell had broken loose when word arrived that the port of Pelabuhan Ratu had come under attack.

* * * *

‘Where are yo
u going?'
Mary Jo yelled after the ferry as it sped away from the fleet. During the past hours, she had scrambled from one ship to another, visiting more than thirty vessels, talking to refugees in her broken but effective Indonesian. The huge fleet was tied closely together, permitting unrestricted movement within the floating community.

She was amazed at how quickly the people had adapted to their conditions. Charcoal fires housed in clay pots created a market atmosphere as women sat hunched over their cooking, while children played within their confined spaces under the watchful eyes of all. Mary Jo was convinced that many of these ships were not sea-worthy - that their owners, having recognized this opportunity to divest themselves of their aging boats, did so knowing that should their boats be lost, there would most likely be no survivors to deal with anyway. The panic driven refugees knew little of the fishing boats' seaworthiness. They were just thankful to be on board.

Earlier, Anne had taken her to the fish markets where a broker happily accepted her dollars and arranged for a small tender to ferry Mary Jo out to the fleet.

‘The boatman will wait, Mary Jo,' Anne had explained, ‘but please don't stay too long,' reminding her that they were to return to the hotel before eleven. With a wave, Mary Jo had climbed into the rickety boat and was taken out to the fleet. The journey took no more than twenty minutes and as her ferry approached, Mary Jo was struck by the magnitude of what lay before her, wishing she had more time to spend amongst the floating city. She checked the time, noting that it was already past six o'clock and decided to remain until ten, then return to the harbor. She instructed her boatman to pull alongside the closest ship and wait.