Ninety-Eight: Composure

The Tide-Rider with No Pop-Ups

At that moment, Long Maki felt something was wrong. Not only was Wei Hua’s disappearance unnaturally fast and baffling, but even the men he had already hidden in wait had failed to move with him. They had already planned it out: the moment Long Maki made his move, the hidden men would rush out and surround the extortionist. He had already moved—so why had they not? The extortionist had fled. Finding him now would be impossible. He would have to go home and think of another plan. Long Maki had to admit his own failure, yet he still believed he had a chance; since the extortionist had not received the ransom he wanted, he would surely write again. Long Maki had another chance.

He snapped at his Dog-Head Strategist, “Go check those fools. Maybe they all got drunk yesterday and came here half-dead from sleep. Dammit, everyone has already run off. What’s the point of feeding these swine?”

Long Maki had never imagined Wei Hua had wiped out every one of his hidden men, so he could only assume they were simply too drunk to wake. The strategist agreed and hurried off to search the area. Before long, he returned, crawling and stumbling, his face chalk-white. Seeing Long Maki, he stammered, “Ma... ma... Master, it’s bad... our men... all of them are dead!”

“What? Say that again!”

The strategist had seen death before, but never this many at once—dozens. Back in Long Maki’s presence, his fear settled a little, and he spoke more clearly: “Master, every man we placed in ambush here is dead. I chose every hideout myself, I checked them all. Not one left. They’re all gone!”

Long Maki felt a sick dip inside. He knew then his odds were far worse than before. This time he saw that the extortionist was a terrifyingly ruthless killer and shot people without blinking. One blow to kill dozens—this was no ordinary thug. To stay alive, perhaps he had to pay. But how could he forget his son’s blood-debt? Without his son, the second half of his life held no meaning. He closed his eyes in thought, then said to the strategist, “Go. We return. Straight to the police station. This is no one we can handle ourselves. Only the police can take him down. Do not touch the corpses yet. Let the police inspect them first, then we’ll deal with them.”

Wei Hua had not left. He was watching from the tall grass on a low knoll in the distance, and through a high-power binocular lens Long Maki’s movements were perfectly clear. After he saw Long Maki leave with the strategist and the guards, Wei Hua also slipped away.

Long Maki drove straight into the police station investigating his son’s murder and spoke directly to the lead officer about his purpose. The entire station buzzed at once. A single incident killing dozens at once was no minor matter; even a gang clash did not always leave so many dead. Almost every available officer was deployed. Wei Hua’s rendezvous had become a crime scene, and large numbers of police searched for evidence and clues.

Wei Hua had been so efficient that the police found no truly valuable lead. They only knew those dozens had died beneath military-grade silenced pistols. The bullets had not yet been examined, and they did not know how many such weapons had been used. The only suspect profile came to them was this: a young man, about 175 centimeters tall, twenty to thirty years old, with a thin build. Long Maki gave that description. At the scene, Wei Hua left no footprints, so they could not infer his height, weight, or similar traits. But such a suspect exists everywhere, so it had little real value.

The police moved into Long Maki’s estate and placed him under close protection. They too believed the extortionist would send another letter.

Wei Hua was in no doubt about his plan continuing. Everything was unfolding as he had designed. The third ransom letter had already gone out. He was now waiting for the first direct confrontation with the Indonesian police.

This time the payment point he set was again a lonely place outside Jakarta. It was a low-lying basin, ringed by small hills where wild grass grew thick on the slopes—perfect for hiding and observing. Wei Hua arrived at night, well before the hour, and checked the area himself: no one from Long Maki’s side was hiding there. He widened his search to a one-kilometer radius around the hollow. That was within sniper-rifle range, and Wei Hua had no desire to be shot from afar by some marksman.

At the appointed hour, two cars rolled into the hollow, and six men stepped out: Long Maki and his Dog-Head Strategist, two bodyguards, and two officers assigned to the case.

As soon as they emerged, Wei Hua appeared on a nearby knoll not far away. He still wore a mask, and the military silenced pistol in his grip marked him at once as the extortionist.

He asked, “Did you bring the money?”

“Not yet,” one officer replied. “We need more time. You must understand, Mr. Long Maki does not have that much cash on hand, and you insist on U.S. dollars, not rupiah. That takes time.”

Wei Hua knew he was speaking to a police officer, but he was not deceived. “Who are you? What are you to him? Can you authorize this payment?”

“I am Long Maki’s friend and his lawyer,” the officer answered. “I can decide on the money, but we need enough time to raise it.”

“Then I can give you the time. But do not try any tricks on me. I am a fugitive who does not blink at killing. I came for Long Maki for money, and if I get it, his life stays. But next time, I must have the money. If I do not, I will kill him, Long Maki! You have cheated me three times. I do not want to be fooled again. If I still cannot get money next time, my peers will laugh at me, and that helps no career. Enough. I am leaving. You don’t need to escort me.”

With that, Wei Hua stepped off the knoll calmly and vanished behind another rise almost immediately.

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