“A lot, Director Starks, is a fairly vague number.”
“Yes, sir. I apologize. Over two hundred million dollars worth of weapons is the report I’m seeing.”
The president’s face scrunched up. He wrinkled his nose before speaking again. “So who are we talking about? I’m assuming it’s not insurgents. They don’t usually have that kind of funding.”
“That is correct, sir. However, we are not certain what affiliation this buyer has. Word from our guy is that it’s a man named Mamoud Al Najaar. He’s a wealthy business owner in Dubai, though he is only involved with a few actual enterprises.”
“Where did he get all that scratch from then?”
Emily didn’t need to glance at her notes. She’d already memorized everything after one read through the report. She kept them with her just in case, but rarely needed them when relaying information up the chain. “Al Najaar inherited a substantial fortune when his father passed away several years ago. It seems his father sold the family oil fields to one of the larger conglomerates. They made billions from the sale. Since then, his net worth has nearly doubled from investments and the few businesses he’s taken on.”
Dawkins didn’t appear convinced. His wise, narrow eyes displayed his dubious thoughts on the matter. “What would his motive be? He’s obviously a capitalist.”
“More than you know, sir. His lifestyle is heavily influenced by the West. He keeps a stable of women in his beachfront mansion, has wild parties, and was even educated in the UK.”
“Yet it seems like he’s preparing for a war.”
“Certainly contradicts his risqué exterior,” she agreed. “He’s something of an enigma.”
“Director, do you want my permission for something regarding this Al Najaar, or did you want to keep me in the loop?”
Emily smirked. “A little of both, sir. As I said, we have an agent keeping a close watch with some high-end arms dealers. I don’t have anything to request at the moment, but if things get shady, we may need backup.”
Dawkins’ expression remained firm. “Understood. Will that be all, Director Starks?”
She nodded. “Yes, Mr. President.”
“Keep an eye on it, and let me know if anything changes. Play this one close to the chest. We don’t need to piss off the UAE by storming in there and kicking up a bunch of sand under their noses without a good reason.”
“I agree. Good luck with your speech, sir.”
He smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
The screen went black. She turned off her own monitor and folded her hands in front of her face. Her eyes stared across the room at the grained finish of her wood-paneled walls.
Emily sighed, frustrated. She needed answers, and the president hadn’t offered any. He seemed almost ignorant of the man she’d said they were watching closely. President Dawkins had a lot on his plate, and as he said, he was about to give a speech.
She suppressed her insecurities. He trusted her. That was the biggest thing to remember. With that in mind, she sent a text message to her guy in the field, instructing him to lie low and pay attention.
He’d reported in regularly with details of what was happening. If anything changed, she wanted to know about it, and fast. What concerned her most was what her man didn’t report. He said there were dozens of forty-foot steel shipping containers arriving each day, but he had no idea what was inside. It could have been anything. Rockets. Long-range artillery. There was no way to know without seeing inside the containers.
Concern began to swell in Emily’s mind as she considered the implications and the words of the president hung in her ears.
It seems like he’s preparing for a war.
16
Before the sun had even reached the treetops, a heavy humidity swamped the region around Yogyakarta. To Tommy and Sean, it almost felt like being back home in the Southeast. It reminded them of Charleston, South Carolina.
“This is just like the weather down on Kiawah Island,” Sean commented as they got in the small rental car they’d picked up at the airport.
Renting a car in Yogyakarta wasn’t recommended by many people. With so many rickshaws, cabs, bicycles, motorcycles, and mopeds on the streets, getting around in a car could prove nearly impossible at times. Still, once they were out of the city, having their own mode of transportation would be vital.
The Americans had landed late the previous evening. The meal aboard the plane had satiated their need for food in the interim, but upon arriving, a quick snack of rice and vegetables from a street vendor filled their empty stomachs before bed.
Sean usually preferred not to eat late at night, but he knew they might have to rush breakfast the next day. His foresight proved correct, as they were only able to procure a handful of nuts and dried fruit during their rushed attempt to beat the early morning traffic.
Their hotel was one of the less fancy places either of the Americans had stayed in for quite a long time. It stood three stories tall and was clearly in the decline. Pinkish paint on the exterior walls noticeably flaked away in numerous places. The lobby was little more than a foyer with a counter, two potted plants on either side of the main desk, and a set of stairs that went up to the higher levels. No elevators were in sight.
For all it lacked in amenities, the hotel’s rooms were, at the very least, clean. The pillows, though flimsy and beaten, were placed neatly at the head of the beds atop fresh linens. The interior walls resembled those outside the tiny slit of a window, the paint peeling away in various spots.
Sleep had come easily for the men in spite of the noises from the street below. They’d been so tired, both from their travels and the stress of fight or flight, that once their heads hit the pillows, they were out cold until their phone alarms woke them up the next morning.
In the car, it took forty minutes just to get to the outskirts of the city’s artificial walled canyons. Once they did, however, the traffic thinned to a trickle. Eventually, they found themselves driving along a roughly paved road and away from the sprawling Indonesian town.
Palm trees sprouted into the sky in random spots along the road. Others lined the rice fields and farms, waving intermittently when the breeze picked up. Farms popped up between the rolling hills of the countryside, the scenery a variety of green grasses and heavy forests of leafy trees.
Their speed on the main road was faster than in the city, though occasionally Sean was forced to slow down. The side of the road carried almost as much traffic as the asphalt. Farmers with ox-drawn carts, beasts of burden laden with full baskets, and pedestrians made driving too fast a potentially dangerous proposition. In spite of the stop-and-start driving, the journey to the temple only took another twenty minutes after leaving the city.
The massive fortress-like facility rose up from the flats like a massive ziggurat, its dark façade set against a backdrop of shadowy, mist-covered mountains in the distance. Hardwood trees, thick with dark leaves, surrounded the immediate area of the temple’s periphery. As the two men drew closer, more of the building’s details revealed themselves.
A conical stupa towered over the site, its shape like an enormous bell sitting atop the temple’s highest point. Dozens more smaller stupas came into view. The dome-shaped stone formations were originally built into the temple’s surface to pay tribute to the stars in the heavens, a sort of celestial representation on Earth. The charcoal-gray and deep-maroon colors of the temple stones were arranged in a specific pattern, keeping the balance between dark and light, yin and yang.
Sean turned the car into a parking lot three hundred yards away from the base of the temple complex. He found a spot under a shady tree with huge, leafy branches. Tommy started to get out of the car, but Sean stopped him, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder as he switched off the ignition.