‘How would you have it? As the Italians drink it? Macchiato, cappuccino, et cetera…Indonesian style, perhaps? I myself have taken to the Vietnamese brew as enjoyed in Saigon. Thick and very sweet. It’s so strong it makes my hands shake. One almost has to take something to come down off it.’ He giggled.
‘Yes, Vietnamese. That would be good, thank you,’ said Duat. He glanced around to see what his men would have and was startled to discover that he and the general were alone.
‘Don’t be concerned, Duat,’ said the general. ‘Your security here is assured. We’ll catch up with your men later.’
Duat wondered how his men had been removed so soundlessly from the veranda. The sweat on his forehead was not from the temperature, for the elevation of the hill made it quite cool.
The general eyed him quizzically. ‘Ah yes, I know why you’re feeling ill at ease,’ he said. ‘It’s my accent, isn’t it?’
No, it wasn’t that, but Duat nodded anyway. It was the fact that he had the feeling of being stuck in the web of a very large, very dangerous spider, one that at any moment could close the short distance between them and render him immobile with an injection of venom, for later consumption.
The general nodded with understanding, almost compassion. ‘Yes, my accent does seem to have that effect on most people. From the age of ten, I lived in London with my parents. My father was the Thai chargé d’affaires. I was schooled at Harrow, and studied chemistry at London University. You see, from an early age I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Unlike a lot of the aimless morons I called my school chums, who ended up in the stock market or banking, this young fool had a purpose to his education. Your English is also very good. Do I detect a faint American accent? Where were you schooled?’
‘Jakarta. My father was the maintenance man at the International School. They let me attend classes. Many of the teachers were American.’ Duat left out the fact that he murdered two of those teachers for blaspheming Allah, setting fire to the institution at the age of fourteen.
A sudden thought appeared to lighten the general’s face. ‘I do believe that it’s the people with purpose who succeed best in life. We’re the ones who feed on those with none. Let me hear about your purpose, Duat.’
The general shifted his bulk on the cushions beneath him. Duat’s nose detected the aroma of the man, the smell of old prawns splashed with perfume.
The general’s allusion to feeding on people did nothing to dispel Duat’s impression that he was in the presence of an arachnid. Several platoons of soldiers drilled on the forecourt of the enormous house, just beyond the porch on which Duat and the general were seated. They moved impressively through a series of set self-defence moves. Duat wished he had the resources that the general had at his disposal. With them, he could change the world.
‘Do you have a military background, General?’ Duat realised the question was profoundly rude. After all, he called himself a general, didn’t he?
The general stared at Duat for a long, quiet moment.
‘Phaa…’ he said, waving a hand dismissively after a few seconds. ‘Why lie about it? I approached the government in Rangoon, and volunteered to keep the Thais on their side of the border if they allowed me to keep a small, paid army to do so. Paranoia is a wonderful thing. You can make it work for you, especially when regular deposits in the bank accounts of various senior officers accompany it. The rank of general, along with the occasional wearing of a uniform, just helps keep some of the recruits in order.’ He indicated the men drilling below with a lowering of his head.
‘Try some of these. You are too thin.’ He flicked a fat finger impatiently at one of the girls. She spooned various coconut treats onto a quivering banana leaf and handed them to Duat with a bow.
‘Thank you, General. I envy your lifestyle.’ In fact, Duat didn’t envy the general in the least, for the man was most obviously without God. But he was anxious to close the deal and be on his way, and felt that a compliment might tidily end the conversation.
‘Phaa…’ he said again. ‘Do you know what I would really like to do?’ The general didn’t wait for Duat to answer. ‘Take my new Ferrari Enzo and drive it with my foot to the firewall all the way from Rome to Milan, collecting as many speeding tickets as possible. But of course I can’t. Spies are everywhere. If I so much as pass wind it makes the daily CIA circular. I am here for good. But I knew from the start that would be a hazard of my chosen profession.’ He shrugged. ‘Now, let’s talk about you, Duat.’
The Indonesian nodded, trying to smile as naturally as possible. He wondered exactly what the general had been told about Babu Islam, and decided to say as little as possible about it. The general was a businessman and an infidel. ‘General, I have several million US dollars and, ultimately, I would like to turn that into several hundred million.’
‘Ah yes, capitalism. There is no nobler cause. I myself am a capitalist.’
Silence followed. Duat wasn’t sure what to say next.
The general rolled his eyes in exasperation. This Indonesian was not particularly forthcoming with any useful or entertaining conversation. He was impatient, a fiddler who kept sneaking glances at his watch. The man was obviously uninterested in social discourse. ‘Duat, I can see that you are a man in a hurry. You would like to conduct your business and be on your way. I can appreciate that, for time, as they say quite rightly, is money. But, unlike you, I am not in a hurry and, therefore, I will not be rushed. I have built my business over fifteen years, and I continue to live and breathe for the simple reason that I have a nose for good business partners. Of course, I also have on retainer some of the best assassins you’re likely to find anywhere should our interests clash.’
‘I apologise for my rudeness. I didn’t mean to cause offence,’ said Duat nervously. The general appeared to accept that with a ‘humph’. Duat was less concerned about his own bad manners than he was about the general’s reputation. He was rumoured to have murdered at least a hundred people throughout the world over the past decade and a half, including several from American and Australian drug enforcement and police agencies. He was known to be utterly ruthless and fearless, a wanted man in over fifty countries.
‘You are then also aware of my new-business policy?’
‘Yes, General. Our mutual friends in the Philippines made me aware of it as being non-negotiable. Ten percent of the total in US dollars, up front. Only, in this case, I hope you will make an exception.’ Duat leaned forward and placed a wooden box on the table between them. He opened it. Inside were a number of large pink crystals. The general’s eyes widened almost comically.
‘Well, Duat, you are indeed a surprising fellow,’ said the general picking up two of the stones and examining them.
‘Their collective worth is slightly more than five million US dollars.’
The general rolled one between thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light. ‘Hmm…Argyle…’
‘You know your diamonds, General.’
The general ignored the compliment and held the other stone to the light. ‘Naturally, I’ll have them valued before we proceed.’
‘Of course.’
‘Speaking on behalf of your three companions, I hope you’re right about their value.’
Duat swallowed involuntarily. If the stones’ value did not measure up, he knew the general’s disappointment would not stop at his missing bodyguards.
A thin man in jungle camouflage gear materialised. His shiny bald head gleamed like polished teak. The general placed the two stones in his palm. The man bowed slightly, turned, and left without saying a word.
‘I do hope we can be friends, Duat,’ said the general. ‘Come on. Allow me to show you what you might have made a down payment on. Do you ride?’