Chapter 9: Shadows over the Chessboard of Power
The clash of heavy iron weights rang out through the private gym inside Istana Negara. The industrial-futuristic room looked remarkably elegant, with thick bulletproof glass walls. At the center stood Kaesang, the twenty-seventh President of the Republic of Indonesia.
In his mature years, Kaesang's physique had become powerfully built and upright as a result of his extreme exercise regimen. His broad shoulders, solid chest, and arm muscles tightening with dense strength as he pulled a hundred-and-fifty-kilogram bench press revealed his unmistakable dominance. His face radiated the distinct charisma of a stern Javanese native man: a square jaw with strong lines, tan skin gleaming with sweat, and calm yet deadly eyes.
In the corner of the room, Teddy, his personal secretary, stood straight with a transparent smart pad in hand, as impeccably dressed as always in a precisely fitted tactical shirt. He waited until Kaesang finished his final rep.
Crash.
Kaesang returned the weighted bar to its rack with one powerful shove. He sat down, reached for the white silk towel beside him, and wiped the sweat from his neck and steadily rising and falling chest.
"Speak, Ted," Kaesang said calmly, his voice deep and forceful.
"The central intelligence team's report on the AeroTech Building fire and Bisma's stabbing has yielded some leads, Mr. President," Teddy said as he swiped through the digital documents on his screen, projecting holographic data into the air. "Analysis of the fire scene confirms that all the perpetrators involved were executed on-site in a planned explosion. Their bodies were burned beyond recognition, and no identifiable DNA was recovered."
Teddy took one step closer. "And as we suspected, intelligence analysis confirms this wasn't the work of the opposition faction. It was purely the result of an internal conflict and a struggle for dominance within Bisma's own corporate circle. Someone in his company's management wants control of the rights to that secret research patent."
Kaesang chuckled softly—a small laugh laced with cynicism and contempt. He rose, picked up a bottle of highly oxygenated mineral water, and took a relaxed drink.
"Good," Kaesang replied coldly, the corner of his mouth lifting into an arrogant half-smile. "Whoever set it in motion has given us an excellent stage. Continue with the original instructions. Shape public opinion through the media and make the fire and Bisma's murder look like a terrorist attack by the opposition. Make the public believe the opposition is trying to cripple the nation's strategic project."
Teddy smiled slyly as he followed his superior's political calculations. "Yes, Mr. President. The public has swallowed the narrative whole."
"One more thing." Kaesang fixed Teddy with eyes that sharpened like an eagle's. "Professor Denny, the old man who possesses the master copy of the project's encryption, is still at large. I don't care how many teams you have to deploy. Bring him in alive. We still need his brain before the entire research system becomes the Palace's property."
The two exchanged cunning glances, joining in quiet laughter that echoed coldly through the luxurious gym—a laugh from the men controlling the chessboard, reducing human lives to mere game pieces.
A thousand kilometers from the grandeur of Istana Negara, thick fog blanketed a small coastal town in Kalimantan. The bustle of a traditional food stall, noisy with the clatter of dishes and the aroma of soto banjar broth, formed the backdrop to Professor Denny's hiding place.
The senior scientist's appearance had changed completely. His white hair was now dyed a graying black and cut extremely short in an uneven style. His thick glasses had been replaced with custom contact lenses, and he wore the shabby clothes of a logistics truck driver, complete with a worn-out cap covering half his forehead and thick eyebrows. No one would have guessed that the old man chewing his lunch in the corner of the stall was one of the Republic's most brilliant minds.
But the calm did not last long.
Across the street, still wet from the recent rain, a man in a black leather jacket stood motionless behind a utility pole. In his right hand, he held a pocket-sized smart pad displaying an old photograph of Professor Denny in a laboratory coat.
The man in the black jacket stared at the screen, then directed his gaze straight into the food stall. A thin smile settled over his cold face. "You stupid old man... Did you really think turning yourself into a vagrant would fool our long-range retinal scanner?" he muttered.
Inside the stall, the hair on the back of Professor Denny's neck suddenly stood up. His survival instincts, honed through years of military projects, made him abandon his final bite. Through the reflection in the stall's dingy wall mirror, Denny saw the man in the black jacket slowly cross the street, his right hand slipping into his jacket pocket—the unmistakable motion of someone about to draw a silenced weapon.
Damn! They've found me!
Without wasting a second, Denny swept his bowl of soto onto the floor, smashing it to pieces and creating a commotion, then vaulted through the stall's side window into a filthy narrow alley.
"Hey! Pay first!" the stall owner shouted, but the cry was drowned out by the pounding of hurried footsteps.
"Target is moving! Secure the perimeter!" the man in the black jacket shouted into his earpiece as he leaped through the same window and gave chase.
A tense pursuit erupted through Kalimantan's narrow alleys. Though he was already nearing fifty, the surge of adrenaline drove Denny into a hard run. He climbed over stacks of wooden crates, pushed through crowds at the wet market, and knocked over merchandise to block the path of those chasing him.
BANG! BANG!
Two suppressed shots struck the concrete wall beside Denny's head, spraying cement fragments that cut his cheek. Denny kept driving his legs until he burst out onto a deserted old pier, where wooden log carriers lay moored.
His breathing came raggedly, his lungs feeling ready to burst. When Denny reached the dead end of the pier, with a muddy swamp below, his steps came to a stop.
From behind him, the man in the black jacket strolled out from the shadows of a rusted container, followed by three other fully armed men who spread out to surround him from different angles. The muzzles of their automatic weapons were trained directly at Denny's chest.
"The game is over, Professor," the man in the black jacket whispered with a cold sneer. "Surrender. The President ordered us to bring you in alive, but he never said we couldn't break both your legs."
Denny swallowed, sweat pouring down his face. Behind his jacket pocket, his trembling fingers clutched Bisma's pitch-black encrypted memory drive. His eyes shifted between the gun muzzles in front of him and the dark swamp water flowing beneath the pier.
He gave a faint smile, one filled with desperation yet brimming with defiance.
"You'll never get this project..." Denny rasped.
Just as the man in the black jacket pulled the trigger, Professor Denny twisted his body and threw himself backward, leaping freely into the darkness of the swamp!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A barrage of gunfire split the night air, followed by the heavy splash of water. The man in the black jacket ran to the edge of the pier and aimed a high-powered flashlight at the violently rippling surface. But all he saw was dark water covered in thick blood bubbles slowly spreading across it... with no sign of Professor Denny's body resurfacing.