The Pacific Conspiracy (3 page)

***

"It has been fifteen years since I've seen wayang," Nwali said. The Assassin leader paused a moment before dipping a shrimp cracker in the red sauce before him. He used his right hand, of course. He'd told Frank and Joe the left was considered unclean by Indonesians, especially on his home island of Bali. "I fear the art will have decayed in this much time."

The sauce was sambal, red chili paste - a condiment Indonesians used on their food the way Americans used salt. Frank had tried some earlier, but a pinch of it had taken off the top layer of skin on his tongue.

Nwali swallowed a teaspoonful with a smile.

"I hope not," Frank said. "You make it sound interesting."

Nwali had explained something of the wayang kulit during their meal. It sounded like puppet theater to Frank, only more complicated. The dalang was the puppet master, responsible for the movements and voices of up to hundreds of different puppets. The audience actually saw only the shadow of the puppet. It was projected onto a screen that the dalang sat behind.

It really did sound interesting, but right then the only thing Frank could think of was the cargo in the Hatta's hold.

He still didn't know why Nwali had agreed to Joe's suggestion that they see the wayang performance. The Assassin leader had even treated them to a meal in a small restaurant on the outskirts of Djakarta. Maybe he was celebrating the arrival of those crates. Or the mysterious Dr. Krinski. Or maybe, as Joe had suggested, he had gotten tired of nothing but tea and grapefruit.

Frank wasn't about to complain. The meal was easily the best food he'd had in a month. Nwali had called the food rijstafel, "rice table." The dish got its name from the huge bowl of rice the waiter set in the middle of the table. A half dozen other dishes came with it. Those were on a separate serving platter, each in its own small metal dish.

"Try this one," Nwali said, pushing the serving platter toward Frank. "Daging bakar pelecing." The dish facing him had pieces of what looked like steak, with little flecks of red pepper on the surface. Frank hoped the flakes weren't as hot as the sambal.

He cut off a small piece of the meat and popped it in his mouth with some rice.

"Wow," he said. "That's great."

Nwali almost smiled. "Some of our traditions, at least, remain unchanged. But the wayang will have decayed," he repeated. "Forty years ago there were thousands of dalangs on Bali. Today there are perhaps a hundred. The influx of Western culture, the lure of money, a faster-paced life-style - all have combined to destroy our traditions. Americans," he said, focusing on Frank, "are mainly to blame."

The conversation, which had been lively until Nwali's accusation, came to an abrupt halt. The rest of the meal passed in silence. After dessert the three took a taxi to the arts center.

Stepping out of the cab, Joe got caught up in the middle of a group of tourists lined up to buy snack cakes and drinks outside the center. He stopped for a minute to take a look at the building.

All concrete and steel, the TIM looked like it could have been plopped down in any city, anywhere in the world. There was nothing Indonesian about it at all. For a split second Joe sympathized with Nwali's earlier ravings about how native traditions were disappearing. Then he remembered the man was a lunatic.

Nwali led them inside the auditorium, where several hundred people were milling around, none of whom seemed in a hurry to take their seats. On the stage a transparent white screen about six feet high by twelve feet across had been set up between two metal rods. A light bulb shone through the screen from behind.

"In front," Nwali said, pointing toward the stage. "We'll get the best view of the dalang from there."

He led them to the righthand side of the theater. From where they sat Joe could see behind the screen by leaning forward. Several dozen incredibly detailed puppets, made of leather and decorated with jewels, hung from supports on either side of the screen. There was a large cushioned seat directly behind it. For the dalang, he guessed.

"Joe!"

He turned. Endang was standing in the aisle next to him, smiling.

"I'm glad to see you could make it," she said.

"Who is this, Joseph?" Nwali asked, his eyes never leaving Endang's face.

"Endang. She's the girl I met at the supermarket, who told me about the wayang." He smiled at her and stood. "This is my brother, Frank, and our host - "

"Pleased to meet you," Nwali said, interrupting the introduction.

Endang nodded in greeting. "Do you have a minute?" she asked Joe. "There are some friends I'd like you to meet."

"Sure," he said. This was a real break. Now he wouldn't even have to make up an excuse to get away. "I'll be right back."

He followed Endang as she pushed her way through the crowd toward the back of the auditorium.

"Are these shows always this jammed?" he called after her.

She turned and nodded. "This way," she said, taking his arm and leading him through an unmarked door. It shut behind him, and suddenly the crowd noise disappeared entirely.

"Hey," Joe asked. "Where are we going?"

"I told you, there are some people I need you to meet."

"Hold on a second," Joe said, pulling free of her grasp.

"Right in here, Joe," she persisted. They came to another door, which she pushed open. "Here are my friends."

Reluctantly Joe stepped inside.

The room was bare except for a small folding table with two men seated around it. One man, who looked like an American, was wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and dark blue tie. Joe would have pegged him as FBI, except this was Indonesia. Even sitting, he was big, probably well over six feet tall, and close to two hundred and fifty pounds.

The other man was clearly an Indonesian, short, solidly built, with a round face and golden brown skin. He was wearing a military uniform.

"This is the man?" the Indonesian asked. "He looks so young."

She nodded. "This is Joe Hardy."

"Good," the man in the dark suit said, standing now. His suit coat was open, and Joe caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster with a gun in it. "We have a lot of questions for you."

***

"Remember the agreement, Ali," Endang said, circling the table. "I'm in charge here. I'll ask the questions."

Joe was confused. "What questions? What are you two talking about?"

"We followed you here to Djakarta."

He shook his head, still not getting it. "We?"

"Yes, we." Endang smiled. "I'm with the Network."

Joe wasn't about to blow the cover that he and Frank had worked so hard to establish. "What network?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't be stupid," Endang said. There was a strength in her voice that hadn't been there a moment ago. Joe thought she seemed about a dozen years older. Even if she wasn't a Network agent, she was clearly not a young and innocent girl.

Endang leaned against the table, staring directly at Joe. "We've only got a few minutes before your friends get suspicious and come after you, and there's a lot I need to tell you. And a lot I want to hear from you."

Joe folded his arms. "I don't know who you are."

"Hey, look, kid." The man dressed like an FBI agent stepped forward now and pointed a finger at Joe. "You may not be in the chain of command, but I can have your - "

"Take it easy, Mike," Endang said. She laid a hand across the man's chest. "Keep a lookout, will you?"

The man nodded and stepped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"All right, Joe," she began again. "You don't believe I'm with the Network. Then how about this?" She handed him a silver-colored diamond-shaped tag.

Joe's eyes widened involuntarily. That was what had started it all, almost a month earlier - the luggage tags that the theft ring had been using to mark items at the Atlanta airport.

Still, just because she had the tag didn't mean she was with the Network. She could be one of the thieves, even an Assassin herself, putting Joe's loyalty to yet another test.

"Show me something else," he commanded. .

"Why don't I tell you something?" Endang said. "Like the last words the Gray Man said before you left Alaska two weeks ago: 'This could be much worse than we feared.' "

Joe nodded. "Close enough," he said. "How did you find me? And why haven't you contacted us sooner?"

"There hasn't been a chance," Endang replied. "I've been watching you, and the Assassins haven't left you alone until today. As for how we found you, one of our men spotted an Assassin landing at Djakarta two weeks ago. In fact, it was special agent Michael Thomas, the man keeping a lookout in the corridor now. By the way, this is Colonel Ali Mangkupradja," she said. "He's our liaison with the Indonesian government."

Joe nodded. Considering the stakes involved here, the Network would have a hard time keeping this affair entirely secret from the local authorities.

"Now," she said, sitting down at the table, "I want you to tell me everything you've found out over the last two weeks."

"There's only one thing you really need to know," Joe said. He took a deep breath. "In the hold of the Hatta are several crates. We found a metal casing in one that my brother thinks is part of a hydrogen bomb."

"My god," Colonel Mangkupradja said, sitting down next to Endang.

"Continue," Endang said.

Joe told her other things that had happened to him and Frank, and he'd just gotten to that day's events, with the news of Krinski's arrival, when Thomas came back into the room.

"The man you came in with is heading this way," Thomas said. "Looking for you."

Endang nodded. "Colonel, you and Agent Thomas stay here. Come on, Joe," she said, taking his hand and leading him out into the corridor. Joe heard the footsteps coming just as Endang shut the door.

"We'll pretend we've just been standing here talking," she said.

Joe shook his head. "Who's going to believe that? I've got a better idea," he said.

Before Endang could do anything he bent down and kissed her just as Nwali rounded the corner.

"Joseph," he said with a frown. "Your energy is admirable, but you're about to miss the performance."

"Right," Joe said. "Give me one more minute."

Nwali left.

"That worked pretty well," Joe said, smiling at Endang. "Don't you think?"

"I'm a third-degree black belt," she said quietly. "You try that again, and I'll break your arm."

"It was the best I could do on such short notice," Joe said. "Now listen. You've got to answer some questions for me. Who's this Krinski the Gray Man was so scared of? Why is his arrival such a big deal?"

In answer Endang reached into her handbag to take out a snapshot. She handed it to Joe. It showed a young man with frizzy red hair, probably in his early twenties, standing in front of a blackboard. He was wearing a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt with the number twelve on it. An older, gray-haired man stood next to him, holding a pointer in one hand. His other hand rested on top of the young man's shoulder.

"Hey," Joe said. "The older guy, that's Dr. Stavrogin. He's the one whose equations the Assassins stole."

"Krinski is the younger one," Endang added. "They worked together one summer at MIT. Krinski's a prodigy who defected from Romania when he was twelve so he could work with Stavrogin. He finished college at fourteen, grad school at twenty. You two should get along famously."

"Oh?" Joe asked. "Why is that?"

"Because he loves anything and everything to do with America. And you definitely fit that category."

Joe handed her back the picture. "So why did the Gray Man become so panicked when he heard his name?"

"Because of the research he did with Stavrogin," she said. "In particular, a specific proposal they were working on, 'The Geophysical Application of Thermonuclear Devices.' "

"Huh?"

Endang smiled. "I'll put it in English for you. Using atomic explosives to reshape strategically critical areas."

Joe frowned. "I still don't get it."

"For example," she continued, "they proposed using a nuclear bomb to dig a new Panama Canal."

"What?" Joe said, so loud that his voice echoed in the empty corridor. "That's crazy!"

"Keep your voice down," Endang warned, shaking her head. "It's not a farfetched idea, not at all. The Panama Canal is so old that none of the new supertankers can use it. A sea-level canal, like the one Krinski was recommending, makes tremendous economic sense."

She leaned in closer and spoke more intently. "Listen, Joe, you have to understand something about Krinski. He achieved everything most people could by the time he was twenty. People like that, they just have to keep doing bigger and better things. When the U.S. government wouldn't go ahead with his project, Krinski decided to sell his expertise elsewhere."

"To terrorists."

"It seems so," Endang replied. "Anyway, he's not in Indonesia to build a canal. He's here to build a hydrogen bomb."

"Can he do it?"

"If the Assassins can get him the materials, he's perfectly capable of constructing it." She frowned. "Although Indonesia's certainly not the first place I would have picked to put it together. The infrastructure just isn't here." Her frown deepened. "Now you'd better get back before Nwali comes looking for you again."

"At least we've got a way to contact each other again," Joe said. "That kiss. It gives you the perfect excuse to visit the Hatta."

"And what if you need to get in touch with me?" she asked.

"There's not much I can do about that," Joe said. "They've let us off the boat only twice in the last two weeks."

"All right." Endang nodded. "I'll be in touch. Good luck."

Joe walked back to his seat, still shaking his head. Build a new canal, as if you could rearrange the continents like Tinkertoys. What kind of nut thought like that? Krinski and Nwali probably made quite a team.

"Joe!"

He turned at the sound of his brother's voice.

He'd been so lost in thought he'd walked right by his seat.

Only it wasn't his seat anymore. There was someone else sitting in it now. Someone tall and lanky, with a mushroom cloud of frizzy red hair. Someone who looked remarkably like the young man in the picture Endang had shown him a few minutes earlier.

"You must be Joe Hardy," the newcomer said, standing. "I've heard a lot about you."

He held out his hand, and Joe took it, trying to mask his surprise.

"I'm Alex Krinski."