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Before he could fire, Jarrah pushed Kowalski’s arm down. The security chief, a glistening ebony statue, stepped past Kowalski and motioned him to stay put.
Jarrah lifted his baton, crossed the last of the distance, and hopped aboard the boat. Even knowing the guy was there, Kowalski still had a hard time picking him out of the shadows. Jarrah waited until both men were looking in opposite directions—then he dashed out of hiding.
Kowalski covered him with his Eagle.
Jarrah swung his baton like a broadsword, cracking it into the side of the man near the bow gun. Before his target could even topple, Jarrah spun around on a toe. The second man heard the strike of steel on bone and turned with his rifle—only to meet the upswing of the baton to his jaw. The man’s head flew back. The blow looked forceful enough to decapitate him. His body crumpled to the deck.
Jarrah waved to Kowalski.
With a nod, he leaped to the bow and ran to the weapon mounted there. It was a three-barreled 12.7mm Gatling gun on a swivel mount. He got behind its steel shield and swung the weapon toward the station.
Jarrah ran to the wheelhouse and started its engine with a roar.
As the boat set off, Kowalski aimed for those lighted sites along the station and strafed each spot. The rotary cannon could fire two thousand rounds per second, but he flipped to low mode, reserving his ammunition. The rounds lanced in bright tracer streaks through the darkness and pummeled those spots, tearing through steel and flesh.
He paused between sites as Jarrah guided the boat around the station, sticking close. Kowalski heard screams in the wake of his blasting. Return fire pinged off the armored flanks of the boat, its wheelhouse. A few rounds ricocheted off the gun shield. A huge blast erupted from a corner of the station as one of the charges was mishandled.
Bodies flew through the air.
Kowalski ignored it all and continued strafing any shadowy movement.
Jarrah made two full passes around the station until there were no more screams or return fire. Fresh smoke billowed. Kowalski waved an arm for Jarrah to take them back in. He was under no misconception that there weren’t a few commandos still alive.
The boat bumped against the flank of the station. Kowalski offloaded, armed with his Eagle and a QBZ assault rifle he had pilfered from one of the guards. Jarrah followed, but not before sending the boat jetting away into the dangerous waters beyond the station. They dared not risk it being used against them.
Kowalski faced the smoky mass of the station.
Time to go hunting.
Behind him, Jarrah had grabbed a sidearm of his own, but he poked Kowalski with his baton, then pointed it at the skies. Off in the distance, the bright speck of a helicopter glided around and headed back to the station.
Kowalski swore, suddenly wishing he hadn’t sent the attack boat and its huge gun away.
An explosive boom and fiery flume of water ended any hope of recovering it.
Jarrah grimaced. “What now?”
Kowalski waved at the dark station. “One problem at a time.”
27
January 24, 3:22A.M.WIB
Jakarta, Island of Java, Indonesia
With a small army at his back, Gray crossed the city square that fronted the Jakarta History Museum. The air scorched, and their faces were masked like bandits to keep the powdery ash from their lungs. Still, his eyes watered, and the occasional fiery flake burned his exposed skin.
The museum’s columned façade rose ahead of him, spreading out in Dutch-colonial wings that flanked a rear courtyard. It climbed in two stories of white plaster with rows of small windows, all sealed behind green shutters. The red-tiled roof was covered in several inches of ash. Directly ahead, carved into the triangular pediment of the second story, was a single word in Dutch: GOUVERNEURSKANTOOR.
It translated as “Governor’s Office.”
That’s what we need to find in there.
As Gray headed across the plaza, he was surprised to discover that there was no cordon of defense around the museum. Then again, the entire island was coming apart at the seams.
Earthquakes continued to rattle with sudden jolts. Another two volcanic peaks had erupted over the past hour. Tidal surges struck the coastline in unending volleys. All around, the streets had become roadblocks of cars and wagons, most simply abandoned. People crowded past with their lives piled on their backs or dragged behind in carts.The military and police forces were scattered and strained. Especially as it wasn’t just this island that was under siege. The Indonesian archipelago encompassed seventeen thousand islands, six thousand of which were inhabited.
Gray stared at the dark face of the unguarded museum.
