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Petaling Jaya – Malaysia

1st January 1999

Azahari Husin listened while Hambali articulated his reasoning for their involvement in the imminent action in Indonesia’s eastern Christian provinces. They had driven from Shah Alam to Klang where Hambali maintained a one-bedroom unit for transients associated with their cause. The city was an appropriate location, just thirty kilometres from Kuala Lumpur and only eight kilometres from the port.

‘Why start with Ambon?’ Azahari wished to understand Hambali’s logic.

‘There are five main provincial areas which have non-Mus-lim majorities. These are West Papua, Indonesian Borneo, Sulawesi and Bali through the string of islands to the east known as Nusa Tenggarra. In the Moluccas, the demograph-ics have changed substantially with the forced transmigration processes and now we outnumber the Christian population by a narrow margin. However, Ambon still supports a Christian majority and, if we are to subjugate the non-Christian provinces then we must reverse the trend in Ambon to bring all the Moluccas under Islamic domination.’

Azahari suppressed a yawn. The streets were deserted but for the occasional itinerant strolling aimlessly around, lost in the post-celebratory haze of the New Year. Azahari and his passenger had both risen before dawn – Ramadan had commenced ten days before and both men continued to fast during daylight hours. ‘How much support do you expect from our cells in Java?’ he asked.

Hambali shook his head. ‘Nothing of any great significance,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘at least, not yet. They’ll follow once we demonstrate what we are capable of achieving in the Christian areas.’

‘And the military?’

Hambali’s lip curled. ‘We have the backing of General Sumantri and his Kopassus clique.’

It was Azahari’s turn to smile. ‘From antagonist to benefactor?’

‘Why not use the opportunity? At this point in time we share some common interests.’

‘How is it going to play out?’

‘Sumantri’s people started the ball rolling last year; to stir the pot, they had Deddy Hamdan, one of the pro-democracy activists, disappear. Word on the street is that elements of the Kopassus Special Forces carried out the kidnapping, which shouldn’t come as any surprise. Then Sumantri orchestrated a turf war between Christian and Muslim Ambonese gangs in Jakarta back in November by spreading rumors that Ambonese Christians had burned a local mosque. A couple of hundred of the Cokers were then repatriated when…’

‘Cokers?’ Azahari interrupted.

‘An abbreviation for Cowok Kristen, the Christian Boys,’ Hambali clarified, ‘they operate in Ambon as well as Jakarta. As I was saying, when the street fighting broke out in Jakarta there were half a dozen or so Cokers killed. More than twenty churches were torched. When they were forcibly repatriated the Cokers raised hell upon arrival in Ambon. Won’t take much to light their fuse when we’re ready, especially if we can stir the Moluccan Muslim Student Movement.’

‘These Ambonese – are they well armed?’

‘I don’t expect they’ll put up much of a fight. Besides, Sumantri will see to it that the military look the other way when we strike.’

‘How will your troops be able to differentiate between the Muslims and Christians?’ Azahari was curious to know.

‘The disruptions will commence during the Idulfitri celebrations. We’ll spread the word for Muslims to wear white armbands to distinguish them from the others. We expect to mobilize support from the Leihitu Peninsula area and from Ternate in the north.’

‘And you are confident that we won’t be compromised in any way?’

‘Yes,’ Hambali responded, assuredly, ‘with Suharto gone we have forged our own niche with the new powers-to-be. They see us as an opportunity to do their dirty work for them.’ He moved to reassure his serious-faced companion. ‘Don’t worry. This action is just the beginning. The Jemaah Islamiyah is about to make its mark in Indonesia.’

Azahari considered Hambali’s comment. ‘Might be an ideal opportunity for our friends in the Philippines to mount a simultaneous campaign?’

‘The MILF is too fragmented to be effective,’ Hambali complained. ‘Also, their objectives are more of a domestic nature.’

‘But, they’re close enough to lend material support to the operations planned for Sulawesi and the Moluccas?’

‘They’d be reluctant to offer weapons.’

‘What about the North Korean shipments?’ Azahari was aware that Pyongyang had sold the Moro Islamic Liberation Front more than ten thousand U.S. M16 rifles, grenades and other arms over the past year. The secret, two-million dollar deal had been negotiated on Malaysian soil at Sandakan, which had become the main logistics airport for arms supply into the Philippines, with Ghazali Jaafar, the MILF vice chairman for political affairs in attendance. His sources had also revealed that the MILF had expressed interest in purchasing a North Korean mini-submarine which, to Azahari, demonstrated the Filipino separatist group’s sound financial strength. He knew that they financed their guerrilla activities by trading drugs produced in Mindanao, and frequently received funds from al-Qaeda sources in support of their quest for an Islamic state in southern Philippines. Also, there was considerable cross-pollination between the Jemaah Islamiyah and its Philippines counterpart with Indonesian and Malaysian recruits frequently undergoing training in the Mindanao camps. Equipped with sophisticated computerized satellite communications, the well-armed MILF force of ten thousand represented a formidable challenge to the government and its armed forces. Azahari knew that more than one hundred and twenty thousand Filipinos from both sides had died in the conflict during the past thirty years.

‘When I last visited Camp Abu Bakar in Mindanao they’d already received most of the M16s,’ Hambali reported. The camp was the principal MILF stronghold located in heavily forested, mountainous terrain and oversaw a further sixty military pods spread throughout the provinces which bordered Indonesia’s Kalimantan and Sulawesi. The MILF and al-Qaeda had established strong ties over the past decade and discussions regarding the establishment of an al-Qaeda training post under the MILF umbrella were well advanced. ‘But, again, I don’t believe they’ll give up any of their armory. Also,’ Hambali added, ‘we have to remember that they are currently still operating under a ceasefire with the government. Would strengthening our relationship with the Abu Sayyaf be the best way to go?’

The militant Islamic Abu Sayyaf had recreated itself over the past four years since making headlines with the attack on Ipil. Both Hambali and his deputy were aware that only within the al-Qaeda-linked hierarchy was it known that the Abu Sayyaf had played an important role in placing the bomb on the Philippines Airlines flight to Tokyo in December 1994. Although the flow of arms and munitions from Afghanistan had slowed to a trickle following the Bojinka disaster, Abu Sayyaf remained a reliable source for the Jemaah Islamiyah whenever explosive material was required, as the organization maintained close ties with the Philippines armed forces and their U.S. supplied armories.

Azahari agreed with Hambali’s suggestion. ‘Will you make arrangements for the funds?’

Jakarta

BAKIN (Indonesian State Intelligence Coordinating Agency)

General Hadi Suharman’s granite expression signaled his determination. ‘No excuses, Colonel, we should already have assets on the ground. I want the situation rectified immediately. And,’ he glared at the two officers present, the air sticky with testosterone, ‘…the balls of whoever was responsible for this screw up.’

Colonel Sutrisno moved to damage control. It was his department that had missed the significance of the intelligence that had raised the General’s ire. He gestured to the Special Forces officer at his side who was temporarily assigned to BAKIN, and said: ‘The Major has offered to oversee the operation personally.’ BAKIN, Indonesia’s State Intelligence Coordinating Agency was the central intelligence-gathering body which scrutinized both domestic, and foreign intelligence gathered by its own agents, as well as that collected by the army and police. BAKIN was directly under the President’s control and maintained its own communications network outside the civilian and military administrations. Army officers were regularly seconded to BAKIN for special duties – whereas BIA, the Armed Forces Intelligence Agency was charged with the collection of information relating to external defence and internal security, processing and operational functions.

General Suharman challenged the Major. ‘You are familiar with this piece of shit called Isamuddin?’

In no way intimidated by his corpulent superior, Major Tony Supadi responded confidently. ‘Riduan Isamuddin, aka Hambali.’ He paused, drawing upon information from files he had studied, ‘returned to Indonesia last week, intelligence suggesting that he may be in Ambon training others in explosives applications.’ The Major was careful not to reveal more than the BAKIN files contained.

Suharman’s eyes narrowed. Although the young officer had the necessary skills to carry out the assignment, he had yet to be tested. ‘You are to remove Isamuddin and his supporters from the scene. Is that clear?’

Supadi glanced over at Colonel Sutrisno who remained expressionless. ‘Yes General.’

‘Then get your team together immediately and report back to me.’

Colonel Sutrisno intervened. ‘With Ramadan well under way it might be tricky.’ The ‘Dirty Ops’ departmental head was not overly keen to commence the covert operation during the fasting period. ‘Sending a ‘housekeeping’ team at this time might not go down too well.’ To peaceful, devout Muslims, Ramadan was a time of prayer and reflection.

Suharman’s lips barely moved. ‘I remind you that Nabi Mohammed fought to retake Mecca at the Battle of Badr during Ramadan. You are to act during the festival of Lailat al-Qadr, to achieve the most effective results.’

The Colonel shuffled his feet nervously, always uneasy when the General used references to the Koran to support his own distorted views. The Lailat al-Qadr ‘Night of Power’ festival marks the night when Allah through the angel Gabriel first revealed the Koran to the Prophet Mohammed. It is celebrated during the final ten days of Ramadan — a time when many extremists believe themselves to be empowered with super-normal capabilities; when would-be martyrs are fearless, for to die for Islam would guarantee purification and acceptance in heaven. General Suharman’s orders worried the Colonel, as it would be his responsibility to lead the covert action in Ambon at the time of this festival. ‘But General, Lailat al-Qadr is less than two weeks away! That doesn’t give us adequate time to prepare.’

General Suharman waved a hand dismissively. ‘Then I suggest you get to it. There will be no further delay.’

* * * *

Alone and deep in thought General Suharman considered the consequences of the unlikely event his clandestine operation being exposed. With President Suharto’s shock resignation in May the year before creating the worst leadership vacuum the country had seen since the 1966 coup d’etat, Suharman and a number of other generals had gathered, determined to protect their vested interests.

When Suharto’s regime came to its abrupt and violent end the long-standing ideological divisions that had festered unnoticed under the former president’s iron rule suddenly flared, revealing the depth of factional rivalry within Indonesia’s armed forces. Faced with the disgrace associated with Suharto’s resignation, General Suharman and his fellow loyalist officers moved to consolidate their positions against their younger opponents, preparing for exigencies that would undoubtedly occur during the looming power struggle.

General Suharman’s old guard, referred to as the ‘ Merah-Putih’ officers whose loyalty was symbolized by the red and white colors of the Indonesian flag, had prevented the ‘Hijau’ (Green), reformist officers’ attempted coup d’etat against Suharto’s nominated successor, Habibie, within days of his ascent to power. Suharman despised the ‘Hijau’ group of officers, so named because of their identification with modernist Islamic teachings, for it was these traitors who had provided information and logistical support for students back in May, precipitating Suharto’s fall, and the collapse of the New Order.

Suharman knew that most of the ‘Hijau’ members were military academy graduates from the years 1973-1974. He had learned that these officers were integral to the inner-circle, known widely as the “Kelompok 20, ‘The Group of Twenty’. During the past nine months when Reformasi had suddenly become the new, all-embracing, catchword, many ambitious senior military officers, in line with the country’s evolving mood, commenced looking for alternative leadership, further exacerbating existing factional rivalries within the powerful military machine. This group of twenty generals and influential reformists with their radical reformist ideas were considered an abomination by the old guard.

With widespread disappointment growing amongst Indonesian intellectuals, both civilian and military, General Suharman and his ‘Merah Putih’ loyalists refused to wait quietly in the wings, their impatience growing as their positions continued to be marginalized, this loss of power impacting heavily on revenues generated by the complex foundations under their control.

But the obese general knew that significant funds would be needed to meet the threat from within. Faced with international condemnation relating to human rights offenses, Suharman’s TNI, Indonesian Armed Forces’ associates were suffering the consequences of partial weapons’ embargoes – and the ‘commission well’ was rapidly drying up. That half the nation’s F16s were no longer operational and the air force C130s were grounded due to the lack of spare parts, weighed heavily on his mind. That morning he had read, with dismay, that even the British Hawk aircraft were no longer fully operational.

During Suharto’s reign arms contracts generated lucrative commissions for the military machine. However, although some U.S. defence contractors had managed to circumvent their Congress’ ban, these multinationals were extremely difficult to deal with. Suharman unhappily accepted that it was now most unlikely his group would benefit from the Lockheed Martin and Boeing’s collective $54 million in contracts that President Clinton’s Administration had recently approved.

Faced with the revenue loss, Suharman’s fellow generals had taken alternative measures to shore up their incomes, targeting foreign companies which they then proceeded to squeeze. Mining giant Freeport’s West Papua management succumbed when TNI elements incited unrest which, in turn, jeopardized the mining operations, the U.S. based miner then forfeiting an additional $35 million to the military to ensure that the ‘rebel-lious elements’ were removed from the mine’s environment.

With President Habibie’s diminishing popularity both internationally and domestically, rumors suggesting a possible coup attempt were rife — and another major concern to the loyalists was the country had no Vice President and, according to the Constitution, the Ministers for Foreign Affairs, Defense and Internal Affairs would assume joint, temporary leadership in the event the President were to fall.

When the ‘Merah Putih’ loyalists learned that the ‘Hijau’ reformists were mounting a major operation in the country’s eastern provinces, Suharman had become alarmed upon discovering that he had been deliberately left out of the intelligence loop. It would seem that the ‘Group of Twenty’ were making their move – and Suharman was determined to disrupt their plans.

Cijantung – East Jakarta

KOPASSUS Special Forces HQ

Following his BAKIN briefing Major Tony Supadi went directly to the outer Jakarta suburb of Cijantung, driving past the heavy machine-gun post and entering the marble-fronted Kopassus HQ. There he informed other members of the Special Forces of his meeting with General Suharman; the consensus amongst these officers loyal to the ‘Hijau’ reform movement was that swift action was imperative to unseat the Suharto loyalists – even if this conspiracy resulted in thousands of their fellow countrymen losing their lives. Special Ops teams were covertly created and charged with destabilizing sensitive areas; their aim to prepare the Indonesian people for a revitalized TNI’s return to power when the country’s experiment with democracy, as predicted, had failed. Plans for secret paramilitary forces were only months away from realization, the first training camp already under construction in the mountainous terrain two hours south of Jakarta. This paramilitary arm would be designated the Laskar Jihad or Islamic Holy Warriors, its rank and file to be drawn from Islamic student groups, and armed by the Indonesian Special Forces.

Major Supadi was a highly skilled officer, trained in intelligence gathering, sabotage and special operations’ techniques. He had already achieved the rank of captain when Prabowo Subianto, the President’s son-in-law assumed leadership of Kopassus in December 1995. When the command was reorganized in the following year Supadi was promoted to major and Prabowo became the country’s youngest, two-star general, overseeing the elite corps of red berets’ growth to 6,000. And, they had powerful friends for within two years, three of the most senior positions at TNI headquarters would be dominated, for the first time in Indonesia’s military’s history, by Kopassus Special Forces officers.

An opportunist, Supadi had never hesitated in volunteering for missions that would raise his profile within the corps. Beginning in late 1998 with rumors that President Habibie was considering a referendum in East Timor, Supadi led Kopassus elements in the systematic liquidation of Timorese associated with the struggling resistance movement, this action forcing thousands to flee into the jungles. The Major’s involvement in East Timor would continue, in parallel with his additional responsibilities in the Moluccas, both theatres in Indonesia’s Christian-dominated eastern provinces.

As a pragmatist, when the lines had been drawn between the loyalist and reformist officers, Supadi had considered the long-term ramifications of identifying with either group. Believing that both factions were fundamentally flawed and in no way influenced by the conflicting ideologies, Supadi had made his choice based solely on career considerations, secretly committing to the ‘Hijau’ movement.

Confident that the old guard would soon be swept from the TNI halls of power, the Major was determined to make his mark, assisting the ‘Group of Twenty’ in creating conflict to destabilize the nation and thus inspire people to seek new leadership — their leadership. He would turn General Suharman’s Lailat al-Qadr mission into the perfect opportunity to demonstrate his skills to his superiors. Riduan Isamuddin would not be harmed. The Maluku region would become the vanguard for the reformists’ military cabal’s endeavors to destabilize the country by provoking religious violence in the eastern provinces – its success assured with al-Qaeda’s S.E. Asian operations commander, Hambali, already on the ground, preparing for the Special Forces arrival.

Jakarta

The Bimaton Group

‘I have Pak Suwanto on line,’ Agus Sumarsono’s secretary called.

Agus scowled at the phone, the knot in his stomach tightening as he lifted the receiver. ‘Pagi, Mas.’

‘Good morning, Agus,’ the banker reciprocated.

Agus’s jaw tightened. They were not on a first name basis, Suwanto signaling the role reversal from a time when the haughty, Bimaton president was accorded the respect his position in the community demanded.

‘I have good news; at least, it’s good news for Bimaton. The creditors have agreed to reschedule the meeting until next month,’ Suwanto advised, not un-patronizingly. ‘I trust that you will be able to present your restructuring options at that time?’

Agus seethed, detecting the supercilious tone in the other’s voice. ‘I’ll be ready , ’ he countered. Agus was cognizant of the banker’s envy, the man’s poignant criticism of debtors maintaining luxury cars and boats whilst reluctant to repay loans still fresh in his mind.

‘Well, the creditors will be pleased to learn that you will resolve the debt issues, finally.’

The sarcasm was not lost on Agus. ‘Bimaton will pay its debts,’ was all he could muster before terminating the call.

His mind polluted with a myriad of issues Agus cleared his thoughts to address the problem of the next creditors’ meeting. Although he had secured limited backing from a number of government bank officials by pledging payments for their support, once the restructure had been approved, the Bimaton president was conscious of a growing dispathy within monetary circles towards his group. Agus understood the urgency of his determining a more efficacious method to dissuade the financial scavengers from forcing an asset fire sale, as he sincerely believed that the conglomerate’s cash-flow predicament could be resolved, given the benefit of time.

When the Asian currency crisis had struck, it gave the corrupt, over-inflated Indonesian economy the enema it so infinitely deserved. Preoccupied with amassing wealth, Asia’s elite had failed to recognize the economic and financial indicators that portended the currency collapse. CEO and heir apparent to the distressed Indonesian conglomerate, the Bimaton Group, Agus Sumarsono had seen his family’s wealth wither in the aftermath of the financial crisis, the Bimaton conglomerate’s book value having collapsed to less than twenty cents in the dollar.

The Bimaton Group, as with so many of its contemporaries, had been founded in the early Seventies under the protective umbrella of Suharto’s New Order. Commencing with a simple coastal trading operation, the fledging company had grown to prominence during Suharto’s thirty years in power. Then the Asian currency crisis of 1997 precipitated the collapse of the country’s economy, an outcome that even the International Monetary Fund’s twenty-three-billion dollar multilat-eral financial package injection could not prevent.

In the twilight years of the Suharto dictatorship, corrupt bank officers approved loans amounting to tens of billions of dollars that fueled massive growth in all sectors of the economy. Now the debt-ridden companies were unable, or refused to repay these loans. In a country with no functioning bankruptcy system, the conglomerates simply stopped servicing their creditors. Terrified bank customers withdrew their deposits, placing most banks on the verge of collapse, further roiling the market. The government bailed them out with aid donor funds and tax-payers’ dollars and the banks surrendered their bad loans to the government which, in turn, brought about the creation of the bank restructuring agency, IBRA, ostensibly to force the debtors to meet their obligations.

However, in an environment where corruption was so endemic, the situation could only deteriorate – and it did. Company accounts had already been gutted by directors, the funds mysteriously disappearing into overseas numbered accounts in destinations such as Singapore, and property investments across the globe.

Indonesia was in chaos – the leadership was most likely to again change hands, the currency had imploded leaving land based assets near worthless – and, to further aggravate the rapidly diminishing foreign investment flow, the country was in danger of losing East Timor. The possibility of a successful referendum and defiant mood of the East Timorese were potential stimuli for other separatist movements.

Agus accepted that in this bittersweet transitional period from despotic rule to the promise of some semblance of democracy, he and others of his ilk would remain in financial jeopardy. Indonesia had flipped from being an international destination for fund managers, to that of pariah, the flood of investment funds exiting the republic fueling the crisis.

And now, the Brobdingnagian Bimaton conglomerate was, incredibly, perilously close to collapse. A two-billion-dollar satellite city development now valued at five-hundred million due to the Rupiah’s collapse had been the primary cause – Agus Sumarsono’s personal guarantees now threatening his core wealth.

Faced with the disconsolate economic landscape Agus recognized that his salvation would depend on frustrating the creditors until he could successfully restructure his conglomerate in such a manner as to attract further investment funds. Amongst the group assets that remained viable was his indirectly controlled construction company P.T. Young & Budiono which, due to its turnkey-oil and gas activities, continued to pump desperately needed cash flow into the Bimaton Group.

In ruminative mood Agus considered the expatriate, Greg Young, whose management skills and single-mindedness had guided the construction arm through the economic downturn. Young had remained at the Y & B company helm since going public and Agus would not have it any other way. The London-born engineer had proven an invaluable asset and, although Agus had seriously strained their relationship with demands on Y & B’s cash flow, he expected that Young would continue to toe the line.

Encumbered with the mounting pressures of the moment Agus gazed out through the office tower’s double-glazed windows, the city’s panorama impaired by haze. Even the majestic peaks of Gunung Salak and the Gunung Gede mountains were hidden from view, the momentary sense of isolation adding to his dispiritedness. Agus exhaled slowly; he had never felt so alone. He leaned over and touched an intercom button. ‘Call Greg Young and Andrew Graham and ask them to meet me at the club. Have the driver bring the Rolls to the front of the building then ring the course manager and tell him to book my foursome for a one o’clock tee-off.’

* * * *

Andrew Graham arrived half an hour before the others, eager to limber up on the driving range before the game – and to ensure that his customary caddy was available. Reminded of Agus Sumarsono’s competitive nature, Andrew relied heavily on the bare-footed Sundanese caddy to compensate for Agus’ natural swing. The caddy had saved the day on many an occasion with his enormous, splayed feet by simply picking Andrew’s golf ball from any impossible rest, and repositioning the cus-tomized Wilson unseen, in a more favorable lie.

Sitting, sipping an iced tea and observing other golfers going about their game, Andrew recognized David Shaw, an Australian diplomat who had only recently taken up the post of First Secretary, Political Affairs. Andrew knew from his own masters that this man headed the Australian Secret Service operations throughout Indonesia. The American’s interest grew when he identified General Suharman waddling off the eight-eenth green with Shaw. Minutes later Greg Young arrived.

‘Getting in some practice?’ Young asked.

Andrew chuckled. ‘And I have my usual caddy.’

Greg waved at a waiter then sat down, lowering his voice as his face became serious. ‘What’s up?’

Andrew sighed heavily. ‘Who knows with Agus? Maybe he’s just looking for some consolation in the company of those who can’t break his balls.’ Then, ‘Is he still bleeding your group’s cash flow to keep the rest of Bimaton afloat?’

Young shifted uneasily in the rattan chair. ‘Y & B can’t keep on going like this, Andy.’ A fleeting look around confirmed that none were within earshot. ‘We might not be in a position to post a performance bond for the next project.’

Although au courant with the kind of chicanery Agus Sumarsono practiced, Andrew’s brow corrugated with surprise. ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Greg,’ he empathized, ‘I didn’t realize your situation was that tight.’ Andrew spotted Agus strutting into the clubhouse. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Can’t do much, unfortunately. I’m locked in. I’m still holding most of my original stock.’ Young shook his head despondently. ‘Fuck it!’ he cussed bitterly, ‘If I’d bailed out three, four years back I could have walked away with thirty million. Now, with the Asian markets deflated as they are, my holding isn’t worth shit; especially with Agus continuously milking the company’s coffers.’ He flicked an ant that had courageously ventured onto the glass-topped table. ‘Besides, with the stench of corporate Indonesia’s death driving would-be-investors even further a field, who in their right mind would even consider throwing capital into the country at this time?’ Young leaned back tilting the chair, crossed his arms and slowly filled his lungs. ‘And, as if we didn’t have enough to worry about, there’s rumor that before the end of the month Habibie’s going to cave to international pressure and permit a referendum in East Timor!’ Anger rising, he leaned forward and clenched fists under the table. ‘That should see an end to all offshore negotiations until the outcome is known.’

Andrew knew there was little of any consequence that his companion could do to prevent Agus from siphoning funds. ‘What will you do?’

The British engineer cum entrepreneur straightened his back. ‘Not much choice but stay in for the long run and just hope that he doesn’t suck the well completely dry.’

Andrew threw Greg a warning look. ‘Speak of the devil.’ Then, ‘isn’t that Mulyadi from the Bank of Asia?’

Greg swung his head around. ‘Surely is,’ he confirmed, sotto voce, ‘ the senior creditor in person.’ Disguising his concerns he winked at Andrew. ‘Lay you fifty to one Agus has him in his pocket by the end of the game.’

Andrew’s mouth curled at the corners. ‘If he hasn’t already…’

Bogor – Indonesia

Al-Faruq shuffled down through the sleepy village of Cijeruk with his wife Mira Agustina at his side. Arriving at the intersection he bid Mira farewell, reminding her of their pact, that if for whatever reason he did not return she was not to go searching for him. Armed with his recently-acquired ID card stating he was an Indonesian citizen and resident of Ambon, he hailed a minibus, offered his blessing to those already on board then, because of his limited Bahasa Indonesia lay back and closed his eyes pretending to sleep to avoid being drawn into conversation.

Following his exploits in the Philippines, the CIA sleeper had been ordered to Indonesia where he covertly established his credentials with local militant groups. Al-Faruq had blended in well by keeping a low profile, marrying locally, attending the mosque, and generally maintaining the appearance of a reserved, ungregarious person – his fellow villagers incognizant that there was an American spy in their midst. The former Kuwaiti terrorist’s long-term brief was to exploit his connections with al-Qaeda and infiltrate Indonesia’s emerging, militant Islamic organizations at every opportunity. And more recently, as a result of the 1998 bombings of U.S. embassies in Africa, he was also directed to gather intelligence regarding Saudi charities, such as the Al-Haramain Islamic Foundation, suspected of operating in Indonesia through fronts to disguise al-Qaeda’s inwards capital flow.

As the minibus continued on its way to Jakarta, al-Faruq appeared outwardly calm, his demeanor belying the bizarre situation in which he now found himself, actively participating as a terrorist in order that the United States remain informed. At times, his role playing became all too real, such as when along with an Indonesian trader by the name of Agus Dwikarna, he secretly co-founded a paramilitary group called Laskar Jundullah, the ‘Fighters of God’. Al-Faruq deliberated upon the discombobulated outcome his relationship with the Americans had generated and the absurdity of it all; that the United States was now providing him with the very means to further the terrorist cause – his activities totally devoid of any moral dimension.

Arriving on the outskirts of the capital, al-Faruq then changed his mode of transport and made his way to Agus Dwikarna’s home. There, with fellow Laskar Jundullah conspirators he would engage in the final preparations for the assassination of Megawati Sukarnoputri, then report his activities to his CIA masters via an established letter drop procedure, before returning home.