Chapter One - Richard Lewis

"I'll give it one more day."
She poured herself a glass of chilled water and took the chair opposite Wendell.
"You were reading some Scripture, Reed?"
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God."
"And to make the peace you sometimes have to prepare for war." Auntie's graystreaked
hair was pulled back with a pin. She wore no makeup and had the most pleasant
brown eyes. When Reed first arrived in Indonesia as a suave entrepreneur and
businessman, he'd gotten the goods on an American oilman who was having a red-hot
homosexual affair with a handsome, middle-ranking Communist cadre. Reed sweettalked
the suspicious, nervous oilman into this very same apartment and Auntie's
embrace. She conducted the interrogation. During the interrogation, Auntie showed the
oilman a photo of his lover's severed head. "The Communists disapprove of homosexual
liaisons," she clucked. "They can be such fastidious puritans."
Wendell lit a fresh cigarette. "About Operation Samson," he said to Reed without
glancing up from the folder. "You're shipping the hair to a broker and selling it."
"Harry Chen in Singapore. A real hustler. He sells to wigmakers, mostly
Broadway shows. Next time you catch one, the wig you see could've come from Bali."
"This is highly improper."
"I collect hair as a business, so what else am I going to do? Burn it? Bury it?
Make people wonder what the hell's going on?"
Auntie clucked. "Let's move on, shall we?"
For the next two hours, as Wendell chain smoked and Auntie sipped her water,
they debriefed Reed. They went over his reports, the who and where and what and
reassessing the whys and what doth it mean. The big power players were in Djakarta, but
Bali provided a different set of clues to help interpret the playing, the acting and
backstage machinations, get a different measure of the pulse.
Wendell pulled out a photograph from another folder and placed it on the table.
One of the photos that Reed had taken of the Batu Gede rally, a podium shot. Wendell's
nicotine-stained finger pointed to Naniek. "You missed her," he said. "We don't have a
name for her."
"She's a Gerwani flunky."
"With a clipboard."
"They trucked in cadres from all over. Somebody had to organize the ranks on the
square. That's all in my report."
"We've picked up something new in the last six months," Auntie said. "Some
traffic about a PKI agent in Bali. Codename Luhde Srikandi."
"I haven't heard anything. This girl's not her. She's wet behind the ears. What I
know from Wilma is she works with the refugees from Mount Agung's eruption." Wilma
was Arini's codename; when Reed had first met her she reminded him of Fred
Flintstone's unflappable wife.
"We need to know everybody," Wendell said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
"Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."
"Now, now, boys," Auntie said. "Reed, we're stopping Operation Samson. For one
thing, the budget's used up. I trust the money's been well spent."
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