Chapter 41
"Drop the gun! Drop the fucking gun!"
Andi, one of Bejo's men, trembled visibly as he held the gun to the hostage's head, holding the man's body as a human shield.
A line of heavily armed and armored special police officers stood at the entrance to the main cell block, facing off against a slightly less well armed line of Bejo's men, all holding hostages from the various other wings of the prison.
It was quite a standoff, to say the least.
Ziad was balanced with Mad Dog in the collection of pipes and catwalks that hid the ceiling of the main block from the ground floor. They both held a gallon of gasoline bought from a corrupt guard as well as a box of matches.
"Did you bring the stuff?" whispered Mad Dog.
Ziad searched his pocket. It came up empty.
"Wait... No... Crap!"
"Dammit, Ziad!"
Ziad searched again and found what he was looking for.
"Wait- nevermind. I got it."
Mad Dog sighed.
Ziad pulled out two bags of a powdery white substance and handed one to Mad Dog. Ziad opened the other and poured it into his gallon of gasoline and shook it around for a few minutes while Mad Dog did the same.
The liquid in the containers soon became more viscous, eventually settling into a jelly-like substance that is most certainly not safe for consumption by children.
"Ready?" asked Ziad after several minutes of vigorous shaking and awkward dancing around to mix the substances together.
Mad Dog nodded.
Ziad peered over the edge of the slim catwalk at the line of police officers directly below him, screaming incoherently at the rebelling prisoners to drop their weapons or whatever.
As if that would actually work.
Ziad briefly felt a flicker of guilt at what he was about to do. Alas, there was no helping it. At this point he was either going to die or kill.
Ziad chose kill. He made sure the flare gun that sat next to him on the catwalk was primed and loaded.
"Let's do this."
They dropped the two containers of napalm.
Mad Dog led the line of weary and slightly fried prisoners (although this posits the question: if a man escapes from prison, is he still a prisoner?) through the jungle.
"Where are we going?" whined one of the freed prisoners.
"To the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty," answered Ziad.
"Really? I mean, the grass everywhere is pretty damn green but the girls sure ain't pretty." the man answered, suddenly far more cheerful.
"Of course not. There's no such place in this country. I don't know about you, but I'm going back to Jakarta. I need my wa- something the police took from me."
"But where am I going?"
"Hell if I know. Just shut up and don't step on that sna- oh, shit. Anyone here know how to treat snake bites?"
It was a quiet December day at the Central Police Station in Jakarta.
Chief Detective Bunawar twirled the strange piece of wood between his fingers as he leaned back in his creaky leather chair, feet disturbing the paperwork on his desk.
"What is it?" he muttered to himself.
He flicked it at the paperwork on his desk.
Nothing happened.
"Abrakedabra!"
Wow, what a surprise! Nothing happened!
Bunawar frowned with disappointment.
"Hmm..."
A young uniformed officer approached Bunawar's desk and saluted.
"Sir, there's a young man here to see you," said the officer, "He wouldn't give me his name, but he looks quite disheveled, he's wearing sunglasses, and he really insists on speaking to you. Do you want me to send him away?"
Bunawar sighed and lifted his feet off the desk.
"Well, I haven't got anything better to do. I'll go talk to him."
He continued idly twirling the piece of wood between his fingers as he left the office space and entered the reception area. Bunawar stopped when he saw the young man who appeared to be dozing off in one of the cheap folding metal chairs arranged around the walls.
His jaw dropped.
"How...?"
The young man glanced up at Bunawar and grinned.
"You didn't know? Oh, I'm not surprised. It was a real embarrassment for the National Police, so why should they inform their best and brightest? What was it again? Ah yes, fifteen prisoners dead, eight Gegana special police dead, a dozen wounded. And to top it all off, the ringleaders all escaped, I believe. Oh, and it all happened conveniently after an up-and-coming gang leader by the name of Bejo was released on parole. I do hope your men have been keeping track of him. He's going to do some real damage to Jakarta's underworld. Be warned- the bodies will start piling up in back alleys quite soon, once Bejo begins establishing himself more solidly. And the feared murderer, Ziad Jarrah, the man wanted in connection with the killing of twelve KOPASKA Commandos... Oh yes, he escaped as well. What a shame, what an embarrassment, what an opportunity."
Ziad stood, and began approaching the detective, who simply stood there in shock, arms limp by his sides.
"You see, Detective Bunawar, I came here not to gloat or to make threats. I came here to retrieve something of mine that you took from me. And I see you so graciously brought it to our little meeting."
Ziad gestured at the wand.
Bunawar turned his head to see what Ziad was pointing at.
"This? It's only a piece of wood."
"I know. But it allows me to do whatever I want. And I need that power back. Now."
Bunawar instinctively pulled the arm holding the wand closer to him.
"You have two options," whispered Ziad, "One is that you simply give it to me and I disappear, and you never, ever see me again. The other is I use the gun I have on me to kill you and take it from your cold lifeless hands. Then I'll likely have to kill a few more of your friends before I'm able to make my escape."
Ziad stepped closer to Bunawar and held out one hand.
"Your choice."
Bunawar didn't move.
"You may have noticed that I'm currently sporting aviator sunglasses. If you knew me better, you would know this means I'm capable of anything. If a man kills wearing aviators, it's not murder, it's probably just some badass revenge-killing worthy of a Liam Neeson film. At least, that's what the movie-educated general public will think. And trust me,"
Ziad leaned even closer.
"The general public always rules in my favor, even if God himself is against me. Inshallah, I will not have to use violence again to get my will, but with God as my witness I will not hesitate."
Bunawar still didn't relinquish the wand.
"Ok seriously, Mr. Bunawar, I'm running out of ominous and threatening lines. Just give me the damn wand and we can both leave before I say something really silly."
Bunawar finally gave in and handed Ziad the wand.
"Freaking finally. Damn, bro, that took too long."
Ziad pulled one of the guns out of his pocket, causing the young woman sitting behind the reception desk to shriek in fear and flip a switch, causing an enormous ringing siren to scream throughout the building. Ziad saw policemen grabbing guns and looking around for a threat.
He jabbed the gun with his wand.
"Portus."
Ziad gave one last wave to Bunawar.
"Adios, amigo. No hard feelings, eh?"
He disappeared.
"What in God's name just happened?" Bunawar croaked.
A swarm of gun-toting police officers finally ran into the reception area and quickly realized there was no threat.
Bunawar turned to them incredulously.
"A little late, guys. But in police work, I suppose, it's the thought that counts."
Author's Note:
Well, Ziad's out of jail now. What's he going to do next? Only time will tell.
I'm desperately trying to re-discover the humor that I managed to get into many early chapters but it's a decidedly uphill battle. Alas, I believe Ziad's story will be finishing up soon enough, so I'll try and bring out the metaphorical (and likely quite literal) big guns for the final chapters.
Anyway, I hope you guys stay tuned for more.