by Kat Duncan
***
Sunda looked up to the small section of sky over his compound. Helicopters were approaching. The Indonesian Army had finally found him. The end had come, and he had failed. Hijau had died in the helicopter. Kem had saved her democracy.
But failure is always a subjective thing. The only true failure is to do nothing. He thought back to his days as a boy. The constant pain of his burns, the shame of his disfigurement. He had wanted to die. To simply stop being.
But he hadn’t. Instead, he overcame the pain. Used the scars to his advantage.
The first helicopter landed, and the soldiers jumped out.
He had become Sunda. The Leopard. The one absorbing those around him. That was the natural order. And life flowed.
But no more. Now he was the goat, to be absorbed. The only question that remained was by whom?
He reached down, and un-clipped the leash on his cat.
"Go," he ordered. The cat stepped away. It looked back at Sunda, then took a few more steps. It looked about, scanning for the goat that should have been there.
The soldiers were running toward him, shouting.
Sunda knelt. "The flow of life," he whispered then placed his hands on the earth.
The cat understood. It turned about and leapt. Its fangs sunk into Sunda’s throat, its powerful muscles whipping to break his neck.
Sunda did not resist.
***
Sunlight sparkled off the turquoise waters of the bay that separated Madura Island from the larger island of Java. In keeping with the traditions of her culture, Kemuning had been buried before sunset of the next day.
"She was beautiful," Harry spoke, standing over the simple marker.
"Yes. In so many ways."
"I’m sorry, Valter. You’ve lost everything. Kemuning, the bank, your career."
"You told me not to use the bank’s resources to bail out Indo-Pet."
"That doesn’t mean I didn’t agree with you. Has your father selected your replacement?"
"He has appointed an acting director as candidates are screened."
"What will you do now, Valter?"
"Return to Munich."
"Not to your family in Zurich?"
"Graumauer is my son's home. Not mine."
"What will you do? For work, I mean."
"I've been thinking about running for political office."
Harry nodded. "It would suit you. You know, it's a funny thing. In many ways the real hero in all this is your brother Anton."
Valter pinched his brows.
"If you think about it," Harry continued, "he saved Indonesia from the corruption that was choking it. He broke up the blocks of foreign capital, and scared the government into real reform."
Valter chuckled. "As much as I dislike my brother, I would never insult him by saying he did something good for others." He paused. "As for me, I nearly destroyed the bank."
"You needn’t feel guilty over your decision to save Indo-Pet. It is doing well. SBU’s money is secure."
"It was an irresponsible decision."
"It saved Indonesia."
"It didn’t save Kemuning."
"Yes it did." Harry looked at the simple stone marker in the barren soil. "This is what she was meant to do. It is the flow of life."
Valter only stared at the marker.
His friend patted him on the back. "I’ll wait in the car."
Alone, Valter looked to the heavens, than back to the marker. How could a piece of stone describe the person she was? It couldn’t. A thousand volumes couldn’t. Only the lives of three hundred million Indonesians could.
"Kemuning. Were you real? Did you really exist? Or were you a dream that will never come again?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back the tears. He almost succeeded. A single droplet formed then rolled past his fingers and off his cheek, only to disappear into the arid soil.
He turned to leave. One last look back. In the parched earth was a single tiny yellow flower bud. Was it there before? Of course it was. Just in a different form. It was the flow of life.
Especially hers.
Epilogue
Nikolai stood in the control room of the gleaming new Indonesian-built Novshesta-9 ice drilling platform. He had not won every battle. But he had won this one. Trans-Sea, the company Anton Zelman had so carefully crafted to help the Canadians conquer the Arctic, was dead. Mortally wounded when its assets evaporated as it tried to crush its rival Global Phoenix. Now, Russia was moments away from oil dominance of the Arctic. On the radar screen a Canadian breaker sat a contrite distance away. Watching. That was all it could do. Watch, and wish it could have won the race.
"Bore pressure building," the Russian technician croaked. The computer monitors gleamed in the night darkened room. They all spoke to the same message.
Oil.
It was surging up through the kilometers of pipe Novshesta-9 had so surgically laid into the sea bed.
Anton Zelman was never able to sell his rupiah currency futures. That was a fortune he would never make. Now he was safely under control. Communism had not been brought to Indonesia. But mother Russia had won none the less, all due to Nikolai's hard work. The Russian Republic, not Canada, owned the Arctic, and half of Global Phoenix and half of the old Innov-8 design that had become Novshesta-9. That was enough.
Valter Mahler’s injection of cash had saved Indo-Pet. That money had been siphoned up through the chain of companies owned by Global Phoenix, and had been used to pay for Novshesta. Government regulators in a dozen countries protested. They had been silenced when Nikolai installed a new CEO. He didn’t mind, Luke had proven himself unworthy. Poor Luke was now CEO of the very dead Trans-Sea.
"I have gift for you," he said to the new Global Phoenix CEO.
"Thank you, Nikolai." He opened the box. Inside was a black cowboy hat, with a turquoise and silver brooch identical to Luke’s.
"I buy for you myself in Tulsa in America."
The CEO put it on. Nikolai nodded approval.
"Header going hot," the technician spoke.
This was it. The oil was here. Years of work, all for this.
"We have blow down." All gauges pegged upward as oil began to flow into the platform’s giant accumulation tanks. Cheers erupted throughout the platform.
Nikolai reached to the vodka and handed a glass to the smiling and now fabulously wealthy CEO.
"To Valter, whose inadvertent money made Novshesta-9 possible." Nikolai saluted, locking arms with the man, and downing his drink.
"Yes, to Valter. My dear unsuspecting brother," Anton replied.
###
About the author:
As a young child, Kat once tried to confess the telling of her stories to her parish priest because she thought they fit the definition the nuns gave for 'telling a lie'. The wise priest asked her if her stories were told to hurt other people. "Oh, no!" she replied, "I only tell them to make people happy." The priest asked her if she had any other sins to confess and when she didn't, he advised her to continue telling her stories and then he assigned her a few prayers to say for those who could not hear them. Kat has been telling her 'lies' ever since and writing stories to entertain and enlighten. After a successful career as a software engineer, Kat decided she needed something different to do. She's now a tutor of adolescents with special needs. With one teenager in high school (home school) and another in college, every moment of her meager spare time is spent creating romances.
Links to other books in the K-cycle Series:
Links to other books by Kat Duncan:
Wild Rose Press: https://www.thewildrosepress.com/fiftyeight-faces-p-4366.html
Connect with Me Online:
My website: https://www.katduncan.net
My blog: https://www.katduncan.net/writeabout
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writeabout
Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/Write_About
Cover Artist - Avril Duncan
email: avrildc@gm
ail.com
DeviantArt: https://avrildc.deviantart.com
