Sword of Allah

South Java, Indonesia

Duat and Kadar sat in the uncomfortable silence. It was late at night and the air smelled of coconut husks burning in the cooking fires lit around the camp. Duat forced his tongue in and out through the hole left by the missing tooth, rubbing it against the gold incisor. He was tired of the discussion and let his mind wander. Most of the men were asleep but a few groups had assembled here and there to talk, gamble, or to play pool. Several of the men were carpenters and furniture makers, and they’d knocked up a couple of tables. The encampment now, Duat realised, was virtually self-sufficient. Morale was high.

He watched as the silhouettes of two men slowly patrolled a section of the perimeter, their rifles hitched over their shoulders. Recruits had been drifting in steadily in twos and threes, swelling their ranks over the past month as the awareness of Babu Islam spread. And not all of these were poor and uneducated. There were electricians and accountants and even a former air force communications officer amongst them, such was the growing disenchantment with the godless regime ruling from Jakarta. And two days ago, a distant cousin of Kadar’s had arrived at his relative’s invitation. His name caused much excitement: Abd’al Mohammed al Rahim, or ‘servant of Mohammed the merciful one’. The man’s name had an obvious synergy with Babu Islam, the Servants of God, and the men saw this as a potent sign.

Abd’al Mohammed al Rahim had acquired special talents and expertise while in the service of the Saudi army — talents Duat and Kadar could put to good use. But Rahim was sick, with papery yellow skin and black circles under sunken eyes. Indeed, the man had but six months to live due to an accident with the materials he handled. Rahim had been discharged from the army with a pension his wife and six children could not survive on. Kadar had seen to a hefty transfer of funds into his cousin’s account, cementing Rahim’s commitment to the cause. Kadar requested that separate quarters be built for Rahim and that a personal assistant with medical knowledge be assigned.

Duat heard Rahim’s coughing drift across the open ground on the night air. Six months — well within their timetable. Duat’s thoughts about Rahim turned naturally to the area outside the camp’s main perimeter fenced off with barbed wire, signs warning of the presence of mines. There were no mines here, but there was something infinitely more dangerous buried beneath the soil. A pall seemed to hang over the area and, indeed, even the weeds had chosen not to grow back as if aware that death had made its home in this patch of earth.

Rahim was a chemical weapons expert whose knowledge was essential to their plans, and his timely arrival felt like a confirmation that God Himself was on their side. Babu Islam’s bank accounts had also grown in size and the zeros on the statements were for numbers once beyond Duat’s imagination. The marijuana bartered for guns in PNG had been easy to sell to middlemen. There was no need to risk distribution, and the business had netted close to twenty million US dollars. The accounts would again swell considerably when this money was used to fund the second phase of the plan. And yet…Duat eyed Kadar Al-Jahani sitting opposite, while he drew on a kretek cigarette.

Everything was heading in the right direction, so why in Allah’s name would Kadar want to put their ultimate goal at risk? Just to make an impression? The silence had hung uncomfortably in the air between them for long enough. ‘Kadar, we are now brothers in this enterprise. Trust me when I say that this time you are wrong.’

‘So you keep saying, Duat,’ said Kadar Al-Jahani, implacable.

‘We are doing well. You are right in that,’ said Duat. ‘Our numbers grow and we now have the money for training and equipment. But do not forget where we’re going, my friend.’ Duat’s thoughts again centred on the patch of ground sewn with warning signs.

Kadar sighed. This was becoming an old refrain. ‘Duat, do you believe Indonesia is ready?’

This was the crucial question and both men knew it. Moreover, both men knew the answer — it was not something Duat could lie about. ‘No, it isn’t.’

‘Well, then…’ said Kadar, opening his arms in a gesture that said, ‘Why are we discussing this?’ ‘Look, Duat, you’re right. Things are going well for us, but we can’t stay up here hiding in the hills forever.’

‘I know that,’ Duat said angrily.

Kadar tried a different tack, and somehow managed to keep the condescension out of his tone. ‘We’ve come this far, Duat, because we have support from without. But it is not unlimited and I feel a change in the wind. If that support is undermined or, worse, withdrawn entirely, then everything we have both worked for will disappear like smoke.’ He illustrated the point by clawing at the blue tendrils curling from the end of his burning cigarette.

Duat asked himself again whether he trusted the man sitting opposite. He could kill him now, take the money and the men, but he knew that would be stupid, impetuous. Perhaps if he met these mysterious contacts of Kadar’s, he’d be more willing to trust…And yet, Kadar and he had agreed right from the start on this division of responsibilities — on a division of command. Have I been tricked?

Kadar, too, was considering whether he should just shoot the man opposite, or persevere. This was his strategy, his idea. It was going so well. If he killed Duat, he himself would not get out of the encampment alive. While he had relationships with a few of them, the men were largely loyal to the Indonesian. And where was the glory in such a death? ‘Duat,’ he said, grinding the cigarette into the leg of the table and sending a shower of red embers to the earth, ‘aside from amassing wealth, we have done nothing, achieved nothing. We are at the beginning of our enterprise, really, the very start…’

‘Kadar, in the past you’ve used an analogy: that to set off a large explosion, it must be done with a smaller charge, a primer. But the primer you’re suggesting will bring the whole world down on us.’

Kadar Al-Jahani thought he saw a glimmer of compromise. ‘So what if we were to do as I suggest, but not claim responsibility for it?’

Duat had considered that. ‘So then what would be the point of it?’

‘The people we need to impress would know and at this moment, that is all that matters,’ said Kadar.

Perhaps, thought Duat…We would need to shift the camp simultaneously…

‘It’s time to move anyway.’

Duat sucked on his tooth. ‘Do you believe your plan can work?’ he said, somewhat mollified.

‘Mohammed, may His name be praised, is with us.’

‘Do we have the right man?’

‘I believe so. His name is Dedy.’

Duat nodded. Good choice.