too much attention. You understand what might happen if the Americans discover our secret?’ he asked, and Muis understood.
‘There will be no problem with security. The land I have chosen is in the country, far from prying eyes. We will build a wall around our project.
Those who come to know of its existence will believe it is my country estate. I will build a small mosque inside the property. None will dare enter the property of Haji Abdul Muis, I can assure you.’
In that one, brief, historic meeting, Haji Abdul Muis secured a powerful ally, their mutual hatred for the Americans, further strengthening the bond. Muis understood that the United States would do everything in its power to prevent Indonesia from acquiring weapons of mass destruction, the American influence, an obstacle to his success. He received bin Ladam’s undertaking to provide the technology, materials and expertise required for the advancement of his cause, the commitment conditional upon the Mufti Muharam reciprocating by jointly developing training facilities in Indonesia, similar to those under the Arab’s control, in Afghanistan. Sworn to secrecy, Muis was astonished to discover bin Ladam’s involvement with the development of Pakistan’s Islamic bomb.
Muis left Iran for Switzerland, where he opened a numbered account, deposited the ten million dollars, and made arrangements to draw against these funds via his Singapore bankers. Satisfied that all was in order, Abdul Muis returned to Indonesia, confident that the commitment he had in hand from Iran’s rulers and Osama bin Ladam, would guarantee his succession to power.
Once this had been achieved, Muis intended revising the Constitution, declaring Indonesia a sectarian state under his rule. He would raise his fist to the United States and her allies, removing his Islamic state from their sphere of influence. Indonesia would then acquire the sophisticated technology hitherto withheld by the Americans, a technology which would soon be demonstrated in Pakistan’s deserts, by those in his new alliance.
* * * *
Java, 1998
Mary Jo Hunter
Word that there had been another outbreak of violence sent Mary Jo scurrying to the highland provincial capital, where students from the prestigious Bandung Institute of Technology had ignored a government decree banning off-campus demonstrations, swarming onto the streets to voice their opposition against escalating food prices. Looters had joined the relatively disciplined youngsters parading through the central shopping district, changing the crowd’s mood dramatically. Within minutes, the provincial city of Bandung was besieged by rioters determined to use the opportunity to destroy everything in their path as they hunted for opportunities to loot.
Unable to cope with the massive turnout, the police had summoned the military for assistance, but before their presence could influence the outcome, the rioting crowd had left a trail of destruction throughout the garden city. The students withdrew, realizing that they had lost control of the demonstration, anticipating swift retribution from the soldiers as these poured from their trucks onto the streets, brandishing batons, kicking, punching, and firing their weapons into the air. As some looters scrambled to safety, in their panic discarding television sets and VCRs to avoid capture, others continued on their rampage smashing vehicles and shop windows in the ensuing melee.
Mary Jo arrived four hours after the army had taken control of the city and, although most of the rioting mobs had been brutally dispersed, parts of the city remained under siege. Accompanied by her assistant, the American journalist hurried through the devastated city, stopping to take photos of the carnage whilst avoiding antagonizing the over-zealous soldiers.
‘Annie, down there!’ she called to her assistant, not waiting to see if the younger woman had heard. Mary Jo broke into a run as she attempted to catch up with a number of soldiers dragging a badly beaten looter towards a waiting truck.
‘Jo, come back!’ Annie cried, expecting that as a foreigner, Mary Jo would not appreciate the dangers of the moment. Ignored, she had no choice but to follow, fearful that her boss’s actions might just get both of them killed.
‘Get away from here!’ a soldier screamed threateningly, immediately bringing the Indonesian assistant to an abrupt halt.
‘Jo! Jo! Please come back,’ she called, terrified as Mary Jo continued to advance, her cumbersome Nikon F90 recording the moment the soldiers dropped their captive, and commenced kicking him brutally around the head.
‘Jo!’ she screamed again, warning the woman of an approaching soldier whose raised weapon was aimed directly at the American photographer.
‘Stop!’ the soldier ordered, reaching for the expensive equipment just as Mary Jo captured the final shot she wanted, and turned, lowering the camera immediately. Suddenly, she froze in her tracks, recognizing her stupidity as the soldier pointed his machine-pistol directly at her face. For a few, brief, agonizing seconds, Mary Jo believed she would die. Then, cursing under his breath, the soldier turned away, yelling at Anne to get the foreigner away before she was harmed. Their hearts pounding, they moved away from the scene quickly, unable to find shelter anywhere amongst the smoldering buildings.
They hurried back along the main thoroughfares, avoiding the determined army teams sweeping the city centre for remnants of the rioting mobs which had all but destroyed the central shopping district. Finally, scrambling over the well-protected blockade surrounding the landmark Savoy Homann hotel, they found refuge inside. They stood, facing each other in the lobby, trembling from the excitement.
‘I’m sorry, that was very stupid,’ Mary Jo apologized to her assistant, realizing how she had jeopardized their lives.
‘I thought he was going to shoot you, Jo,’ Anne said, taking the other woman by the wrist and shaking it, admonishingly. ‘The soldiers despise us, Jo. You must remember that in future, please?’ she pleaded, her small frame starting to shake, suddenly overcome by the gravity of what had occurred. Mary Jo moved quickly to comfort her assistant, placing her arm firmly around the smaller woman’s shoulders.
‘It’s okay, Anne. It’s okay,’ she offered, encouraging her to follow. Anne permitted the American to steer her across the marble floor through to the Garden Atrium, where they dropped into the comfortable batik cushioned rattan chairs, relieved to be out of harm’s way.
While waiting for her assistant to regain her composure, Mary Jo looked around, admiring the art deco design, absorbing the surrounding atmosphere of timeless elegance and grace which so totally contradicted the situation outside. A waiter approached, and she ordered coffees.
She placed her hand on Anne’s, and asked, ‘Are you okay now?’
The Indonesian journalist smiled weakly, then nodded.
‘Will we return to Jakarta now?’ Anne was anxious to get back before dark. She had never enjoyed driving along country roads at night, particularly during times of civil unrest. Also, there had been stories of villagers whose land had been appropriated by the government for roads, who sought revenge by rolling coconuts out onto the expressways, turning speeding vehicles into mutilated, twisted wrecks as they speared off the highways into the night.
‘Yes. I have a date,’ she teased. ‘Finish up, then we’ll get underway.’
Mary Jo knew it would be unwise to delay their departure. Besides, she had a deadline to meet. She looked at her assistant and smiled. ‘You okay now?’
‘Okay, terima kasih,’ she replied, thanking the other woman. Mary Jo searched Anne’s eyes, deciding that she was fortunate
