The two military aides who normally stood guard in the first-floor foyer were nowhere to be seen.

A silver rolling tray, with an assortment of bottles filled with liquors and wines, had been parked beside the door opening into the general’s study. Some of the bottles were empty. Others looked half-empty. The tray had not been there when the general had summoned her to bed two hours ago.

General Suparman Perkasa’s voice boomed loudest. He was laughing and kept saying, “We’re rich.” The other voices were not as clear.

She took one step down the staircase. Then another. An invisible magnet was drawing her, inexplicably, closer to the foyer. She did not know why, but she sensed that danger lurked behind that door. Yet something would not let her turn around.

Her foot touched the bottom step. The cold chill of the tile sent a prickle up her calf and leg.

“Let’s get some more liquor!” the general said. The door, now just three feet from her, started to move. She darted into the black crevices of the dark dining room, just across the foyer from the study.

A creaking sound, the sound of the door to the study being slowly pushed open, cut through the foyer. Kristina wedged her body into the front, upper corner of the dining room.

The clicking of leather shoes across the tile floor.

“I will try some more of that Russian vodka!” a voice demanded. Clinking. Clanking of bottles and glasses.

“Then vodka it is!” The voice of the general.

“How nice of you to give your staff the night off, General!”

“They are members of the army,” General Perkasa said. “Their loyalty may still be with Santos. For now, he is still their commander in chief. We cannot risk having anyone outside of this circle hear anything. They will all know soon enough. There’s plenty of vodka. Anybody want rum?”

“Scotch, please,” a voice said.

“Coming right up,” the general said.

“Thank you, General.” The voice of the doctor.

“Thank you, General.” An unfamiliar voice.

“We can discuss the Santos problem later. But for now, I propose we have a toast,” the general said. “To one hundred million dollars apiece!”

“To one hundred million dollars apiece!” said another voice.

“And to millions and billions for our cause!” another voice said.

“To millions and billions!” More clanking glasses. More laughter and revelry.

“Yes, to our cause!”

“To the Islamic Superpower of Indonesia!”

The clanking of glasses. More laughter. A moment of silence.

“General.” The voice of Perkasa’s sidekick, Dr. Guntur Budi, struck a solemn tone.

“What is it, Guntur?”

“I know that we had agreed to discuss this later, but an overwhelming foreboding compels me to bring this up now.”

“My dear Guntur. You sound disappointed that you have become one of the richest men in Indonesia.”

“I am a physician, my general. My commitment is to a greater cause. I wish to give my money to our cause.” A pause. “Perhaps we could close the doors again.”

Thank God. The doors creaked, and she heard them shut. Perhaps she should scurry back up the steps. But she could not go. Not yet.

“You were saying, Guntur.” The general’s voice was muffled, but still audible.

“I was saying, General, that I am aware of the strategic military plans to attack the presidential palace with our own forces, but I wish to present a better alternative.”

“A better alternative?” Perkasa raised his eyebrow. “Doctor, I know that you are brilliant, but in addition to being Indonesia’s finest physician, are you now telling me that you have also become a military strategist?” Perkasa asked this in a half-mocking tone, chuckling as he appeared to pause and swig down liquor, and eliciting the laughter of others at his mock indignation.

“My dear general,” Budi was saying, his voice solemn, obviously not acquiescing to the collective joviality of the moment. “The problem is that if military action is taken directly against the presidential palace, and you ascend to power in the wake of such action, then you will be viewed as the head of a military junta that could damage your credibility with a number of nations around the world.”

“Doctor,” the general shot back, “if you are suggesting that my credibility would be damaged in the eyes of the Americans and the nations of the West, well not only do I not care about that, but I would think that this would bolster my allies among the only nations that count, namely our Muslim brothers.”

“Perhaps,” Budi said, having sucked the general from frivolity to at least a serious conversational mode. “But what about in debates involving nations of the third world in the forum of the United Nations and other forums? Would it not be better to preserve as much credibility for you as we can upon the international stage?”

There was a slight pause. “Bring me another drink,” Perkasa snapped. “Ahh, Guntur, I see that not only are you a physician, but also a military tactician, and now a diplomat. To Dr. Budi!” Perkasa said, and from what she could hear, they appeared to be drinking a toast. “Now then, Guntur, since you have become not only a physician, but also a military tactician, and now a diplomat, I must confess that you have piqued my curiosity. So tell me…what is this better way that you would propose? Hmm?”

There was a pause, and then the doctor spoke up again. “General, I wish not only to give my money to our cause. But I also wish to give of my body.”

Grave silence followed that comment. “Are you suggesting martyrdom, my friend?”

“I am. And I am ready.”

More silence.

“No one has asked you to do this.”

“No one but Allah the Merciful.”

“Well.” The general’s tone grew somber and deliberate. “Not even a general of the army can argue with Allah.”

“No, General.”

“Tell me, Dr. Budi, has Allah given you specific guidance on how you are to sacrifice your body?”

“He has,” the doctor said slowly. His voice trembled with emotion.

“And how has he directed you, my friend?”

Another pause.

“I now see the reason he has given me direct access to the president. This…my destiny…was preordained from the beginning of time. The president has had many opportunities to repent of his ways and return to the Great Faith. I have access to him at will. He has a physical scheduled in only a few days.

“My brother is also a physician, a surgeon, here in Jakarta. We are of like mind. He will assist me. A trust will hold my money after my martyrdom. Funds from it shall be used to buy weapons of freedom for our cause.”

Kristina’s stomach knotted. Were they talking about murder? About murder of the president?

“That is noble of you, Dr. Budi, but we shall consider your offer as a group-”

“But, General, I-”

“As a group, Doctor. We have come this far as a group. We will decide together. But I thank Allah for your bravery.”

“General.” This was another voice that she did not recognize.

“Yes, Colonel.”

“I also commend the doctor for his bravery. But that begs another question. What about the vice president? Should we not make plans for him as well?”

There was a pause, as if the men had not thought of this question.

“Actually, I have been thinking about the vice president,” the general was saying. “The vice president is weaker than the president. It seems that the vice president could be useful in legitimizing the new government. I believe he can be persuaded to throw his support behind our cause and to declare us as the new ruling government.” A pause. “Do you know what I mean?”

There was laughter.

The general continued. “Vice President Magadia is vacationing at Istana Bogor for the next ten days. Once this operation begins, we sequester him there. If he decides not to cooperate…Well, that will be his unfortunate choice.”

“I agree.”