Now, heavily bandaged, Damiri was back at the workstation, finessing the ship’s antennae for maximum gain without alerting the Americans to his presence.

Moertopo wasn’t happy with the way things were shaping up. He briefly considered telling the young engineer to secretly ping the Multinational Force with an ID pulse and “duress” signal, but decided to hold. For one thing, Hidaka had made it clear to the Indonesians that any extended conversation in their native tongue of Bahasa would not be tolerated.

When Damiri had located a block of intercepts indicating that the Clinton had exploded, Moertopo had suppressed a horrified grimace. He could have wrung Kolhammer’s neck at that point. How could he allow himself to be knocked over by these pygmies? If these stupid Americans all killed each other down there, where on earth was he supposed to run to when he had the chance?

For the first time since awakening with Hidaka’s gun jammed in his face, he actually contemplated throwing his lot in with the Japanese. Trying to plot a course through the contrary waters of fate was turning out to be more difficult than he had imagined. Hidaka certainly gave no indication that he was ready to play out the leash even a fraction. Furtively scoping out the armed Japanese guards ringing his CIC, watching his every move, Moertopo began to doubt they would ever wriggle out of the yoke which now restrained them.

“It’s a Jap ship, a nip bastard for sure,” cried an American flier over his radio. “I’m going in. I’m going to . . .”

The speakers crackled for a second with the recorded sound of a dive-bomber disintegrating under the impact of a barrage.

“What was that?” Hidaka demanded to know.

“At a guess, Commander,” Moertopo replied, “a defensive close-in weapons system known as Metal Storm. I doubt a bolt of lightning could sneak through. That pilot had no chance.”

“Fascinating,” snapped Hidaka, “but that’s not what I meant. He said he saw a Japanese ship. But you told us that Nagumo’s force would be nowhere near the Americans yet.”

The speakers continued to crackle with snatches of dialogue, some of it still referring to a Japanese ship. Admiral Kakuta gave him a frozen look that made clear the consequences of betrayal. Moertopo held his up hands, palms out, begging for a chance to explain.

“We had a ship with us, a Japanese stealth cruiser, the Siranui. That’s what they’re talking about. It probably shot down that plane.”

“A Japanese ship attached to an American fleet?” scoffed Hidaka.

Moertopo shrugged. “You lost the war, Commander. I have already told you that. You were annihilated. The defeated do not get to dictate terms. In my time Japan is a baseball-playing democracy and a staunch American ally.”