Chapter 4 – Mr. Hartono

“Why hasn’t anyone reported back to me?” An Asian man wearing an expensive business suit demanded. “What’s taking them so long?!” He leant back in his black leather chair and stared at his assistant impatiently.

“Sir, I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now, and you won’t have to worry about the girl any more,” a nervous man in his late twenties reassured his impatient boss.

“I hope you’re right, Rye. I’ve had enough of this, damn my foolish ancestors!”

The phone rang and Rye quickly picked it up, grateful to be relieved from that awkward conversation. “It’s them Mr. Hartono,” he informed. His boss nodded. Rye continued to listen carefully and rolled his eyes at what he was told.

“What is it? What have they done?” Rye’s boss questioned him.

“They killed the mother, but the girl got away,” Rye reported.

Mr. Hartono slammed his fist down on his desk, “Imbeciles! Tell them to report to me immediately!” he instructed.

Rye said something into the receiver and then hung up the phone, “They don’t know where she went, it was like she disappeared.”

“I’ll let them explain it to me, Rye. If those three retched girls have found her…” He tried to calm himself by closing his eyes. “Is there any news on the statue?”

“I’ll go and check now sir,” he answered and headed towards the door of Mr. Hartono’s office.

“Good. I need some time on my own,” Mr. Hartono murmured as Rye was leaving the room.

*

He awoke to the sound of Rye’s voice on the intercom, “Have a good rest sir? Hope you’ve calmed down, they’re here.”

“Send them in,” Mr. Hartono instructed.

Two men, tall and lean (one slightly shorter than the other) wearing dark glasses, black suits, black ties, and blank expressions on their faces walked in to address Mr. Hartono.

“Please sit down.” Mr. Hartono paused, and then sighed. “Professionals hey? Do you want to be more obvious? You look like the Blues Brothers for heaven’s sake! What happened to fitting in?” he sneered.

The smaller one responded, “That was not a problem, sir.”

“Well obviously the girl was! Explain!” Mr. Hartono demanded, becoming flushed.

“Well, we watched her walk into the house and waited for ten minutes before we went in and killed her mother,” the smaller assassin replied again. “We searched the house but she was gone.”

Mr. Hartono sipped at a glass of water. As he placed it back on his desk, he commanded the two to take off their dark glasses, and then looked both of them straight in the eyes. “Gone? How could this be? You said you watched her go into the house, did she just disappear?”

“It looked as if she somehow managed to escape while we killed her mum because she took some things with her,” the tall assassin answered in a deep, husky voice.

“She froze time then?”

“Sir,” they were becoming uncomfortable and started to loosen their ties, “We don’t know.”

“Tell me something you do know,” said Mr. Hartono, leaning back on his chair.

The tall one smiled, “We framed her.”

“Huh?” Mr. Hartono sat forward again.

“We framed her for her mother’s murder,” the smaller assassin proudly announced.

“Leave now.” Mr. Hartono sighed, he wasn’t impressed. Why couldn’t he get any decent staff? Staff that correspond with him before doing something.

“We thought it was the best thing to do,” the tall assassin proclaimed.

“Did you not hear me? I said leave!” Demanded Mr. Hartono. He was very frustrated.

The two got up and left the office feeling unsure of themselves, and rightly so.

A few minutes after they’d left Rye walked into the room, “Not a good meeting, Mr. Hartono?” he assumed.

“It could work to our advantage I suppose…” he was distant.

“Um, I’ve got some news from the Protector,” Rye proclaimed. “It might cheer you up.”

“Go on.” He sighed again.

“He says that he has some big news for you and that he wants to meet you tomorrow afternoon, usual place,” Rye told him.

“Wonder what he wants,” Mr. Hartono retorted. “Rye, you can go home now, we’ve both had a big day.”

“Thanks sir,” Rye looked as if a huge amount of weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. “One more thing, Mr. Hartono, sir, he’s going to bring the statue.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Hartono responded, “The plan can commence then.”

When he’d left Mr. Hartono swiveled his chair around to face the window. “Brant, Brant, Brant. When will you give up? You’ll have to when I get hold of the statue tomorrow.” He laughed cheerfully out loud.