Rogue Element

• April 28, 1830Z, Watchdog picks up intruder in TNI server

• April 28, 2015Z, Indonesian Air Force F-16 scrambled out of the base close to flight path of Qantas plane (odd radio work between F-16 and controller)

• April 28, 2036Z, 747 vanishes from ATC screen at Bali Centre

• April 29, 0440Z, Sulawesi — (following morning local time) Kopassus troops dispatched north

• April 29, Sulawesi — logging camp radio silence

• April 29, Bali, air traffic controller car accident — fatal

• 747 still missing

Gioco had to admit that the events listed could be circumstantial, especially the logging camp’s radio silence. He appeared to have quite a few incidents happening within a suspiciously short period of time. The glue was missing, an element (or elements) that would tie all these loose incidents together into something cohesive and incontrovertible. Still, there was enough there, on paper at least, to raise his interest.

Gioco checked himself for an instant. Was it really possible that the Indonesians would splash a 747? He whistled quietly.

The phone rang. ‘Thanks a lot,’ was all he said as the identity of Cee Squared came down the line. The icon for internal mail appeared on his screen at the same instant. It was the passenger manifest of QF-1. He scanned the 394 passenger names on it.

Jesus H. Christ! He couldn’t believe it. There it was! The implications of what he’d just discovered hit him like a pile-driver. The flimsy string of events he’d lined up instantly hardened into something more concrete. He had his glue. Gioco sat in his chair for a good five minutes blinking at his computer screen, in a mild state of shock, again hoping that a glaring inconsistency in his logic would put the facts in a less ominous light. None presented itself. Was this the work of religious fanatics? Was Indonesia in the grip of some kind of fundamentalist boil-over? Perhaps this was just the beginning. Shit!

What had Cee Squared found in the TNI server that the Indonesians were so desperate to keep quiet? He added the clincher, the hacker’s real-world name and allocated seat number, to his notes:

• Cee Squared — Joseph Light

• Seat 5A — Joe Light

Was it possible that Joseph Light and Joe Light were different people? Yes, possible, but improbable. Gioco considered letting Ruth Styles in on his deductions. He never would have been able to piece it together without her. No, he realised, he couldn’t. She would have to remain in the twilight — aware that something was going on but uncertain of exactly what it was. Instead, Gioco picked up his handset, heart in his mouth, and dialled the Director of SIGINT.

Central Sulawesi, 2330 Zulu, Thursday, 30 April

Joe and Suryei ran through the jungle as quickly as they dared, making just enough disturbance to alert any wildlife in their path and give it time to move out of the way but, hopefully, not enough noise to telegraph their whereabouts to the murderers somewhere behind them.

‘Stop… stop,’ she said eventually, exhausted, collapsing on a rotten, moss-covered log.

Joe fell beside her, shaking. He vomited onto the ground, panting as his stomach heaved uncontrollably. This was not his world. He didn’t belong here. ‘Shit,’ he said when the convulsions stopped, a string of yellow bile hanging from his lips. ‘What are we doing? What the fuck is going on?’ His mind replayed the severing of the soldier’s fingers and the back of his throat constricted, preparing itself for the arrival of more digestive juices.

‘Come on,’ said Suryei, dragging Joe to his feet. ‘We have to keep moving.’

‘I’m okay,’ he said, knowing that he didn’t feel okay at all.

Suryei turned and stepped through a hole in a low bush and let out a scream. She disappeared down a steep mud-slide, plunging beneath the surface of a rivulet. She yelled in shock and took a mouthful of water, spluttering, choking. The water could be brackish, stagnant, and a serious danger to her health. As it slid down her throat, she realised that it was sweet. Relieved, she put her health concerns away and gulped mouthfuls.