He was an American or maybe a European. This surprised Harto. He knew the man was white — he could see part of his face when they brought him aboard the boat, but he assumed the man was Japanese, or maybe Chinese. Why would a European soldier be here, in the river? Maybe he wasn’t a policeman. Maybe he was a criminal, a terrorist, or a drug cartel soldier. Had Harto gotten them into something dangerous? He paddled faster. Eko saw the boat starting to turn, and he paddled faster too. The boy was learning so quickly.
When the white man’s breathing had leveled off some, he sat up and began speaking English.
Eko looked back. Harto didn’t know what to say. The soldier spoke slowly. Harto said the only English he knew. “My wife speak English. She help you.”
The man sunk again to his back. He stared up at the sky and rubbed his chest while Harto and Eko paddled.
David assumed the bullet to the chest had killed the bio-monitor in the body armor. It had sure done a number on him. The tracker in the helmet would still be active, but it was at the bottom of the river.
God bless these Jakartan fisherman. They had saved him, but where were they taking him? Maybe Immari had announced a reward for him — these two had simply caught a lottery ticket. Or maybe David was on the dinner menu tonight. He could barely breathe, would probably put up about as much fight as a Thanksgiving turkey. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He had to rest. He watched the river for a minute, then closed his eyes.
David felt the soft comfort of a bed beneath him. A middle-aged Jakartan woman held a wet rag at his forehead. “Can you hear me?” When she saw his eyes open, she turned away and began yelling in another language.
David grabbed her arm. She looked frightened. “I’m not going to hurt you. Where am I?” he said. He realized that he felt much better. He could breathe again, but the pain was still there in his chest. He sat up and released her arm.
The woman told him their address, but David didn’t know it. Before he could ask another question, she backed out of the room, watching him cautiously, her head tilted slightly.
He stood and walked around the home. It was several rooms with paper thin walls covered with homemade art, mostly depicting fisherman. He opened a rickety screen door and walked out onto a terrace. The home was on the third or fourth level of a “building” with many similar homes — all with white plaster walls, dirty screen doors, and terraces stacked like stair steps climbing up the banks of the river below. He looked out into the distance. As far as the eye could see, he saw stacks and stacks of these homes, like pasteboard boxes stacked on top of each other. Clothes hung on lines outside each one, and here and there, women were beating rugs, sending dust rising into the setting sun like demons fleeing the earth.
David glanced down toward the river. Fishing boats were coming and going. A few had small motors, but most were powered by paddlers. His eyes searched the buildings above. Would they be here already, looking for him? Then he saw them. Two men, Immari Security, exiting on the second floor below him. David backed into the shadow of the balcony and watched the men go into the next home. How long did he have? Five, maybe ten minutes?
He walked back into the home and found the family huddled together in what passed for a living room, though it had two small beds in it as well. The two parents corralled a boy and a girl behind them, as if David’s look could harm them.
At 6’3”, David was almost two heads taller than the man and woman, and his muscular frame almost filled the narrow doorway, blocking the last rays of the setting sun. He must look like a monster to them, or an alien, a completely different species.
David focused on the woman. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you speak English?”
“Yes. A little. I sell fish in the market.”
“Good. I need help. It is very important. A woman and two children are in danger. Please ask your husband if he will help me.”
CHAPTER 30
Immari Jakarta Headquarters
Jakarta, Indonesia
Martin Grey walked into the room cautiously, eyeing Dorian Sloane as if he were an apparition. The Director of Immari Security stood on the far side of Martin’s corner office on the 66th floor of the Immari Jakarta Headquarters. Sloane looked out over the Java Sea, watching the boats come and go. Martin thought the younger man hadn’t seen him come in, so he was startled when he spoke. “Surprised to see me, Martin?”
Martin realized Sloane had watched him enter in the glass’s reflection. He saw Sloane’s eyes there now. They were cold, calculating, intense… Like a predator watching his prey, waiting to strike. The incomplete reflection hid the rest of his face. His hands were clasped behind his back. His long black trench coat looked so out of place here in Jakarta, where heat and humidity forced even bankers into less formal attire. Only body guards, or anyone with something to hide covered up so much.
Martin made an effort to look casual. He strode to his oak desk in the middle of the giant office. “Yes, actually. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time—”
“Don’t. I know it all, Martin.” Sloane turned around slowly and spoke deliberately, never taking his eyes off Martin as he walked toward the older man behind the desk. “I know about your little ice fishing expedition in Antarctica. Your meddling in Tibet. The kids. The kidnapping.”
Martin shifted his feet, angling to get behind the desk, to put something between the two of them, but Sloane altered his vector, approaching to the side. Martin stood his ground. He wouldn’t back away, even if the brutal man cut his throat right there in his office.
Martin returned Sloane’s stare. The younger man’s face was lean, muscular, but rough — not rugged — years of hard living had taken its toll. It was a face that knew pain.
Sloane stopped his prowling march three feet from Martin. He smiled slightly, like he knew something Martin didn’t, as if some trap had been sprung, and he was simply waiting. “I would have found out sooner, but I’ve been quite busy with this Clocktower situation. But I think you already know about that.”
“I’ve certainly seen the reports. Unfortunate and untimely, to be sure. And as you mentioned, I’ve had my hands full as well.” Martin’s hands started to shake slightly. He stuffed them in his pockets. “I had planned to reveal these recent developments — Antarctica, China—”
“Be careful, Martin. Your next lie could be your last.”
Martin swallowed and looked at the floor, thinking.