The Patriots – Part 2: Jeopardy in Jakarta

The Right Honourable Lord Rockford’s private jet was headed from London to Jakarta. However, the Baron Rockford was not on it, but was instead in Parliament, vigorously defending depriving schoolchildren of milk. On his plane was his team of assembled experts, the Patriots. CEO and politician Walter Francis Tadworth, chemist and former SS officer Dietrich Schumann, and secret agent Percy Devereaux were lounging in opulence on the plane, while Rockford’s assistant, Julia Montgomery, was preparing the three men drinks.

“I’ll have a martini,” Percy requested. “Shaken, not stirred.”

“I’ll have your finest lager beer,” Dietrich demanded.

“I’ll have some whiskey,” Walter asked.

“Coming right up,” Julia smiled. She walked over to the wet bar and prepared their drinks. While she did this, the three men discussed their plans for Jakarta.

“So,” Walter began. “Are we even supposed to know where we’re to find this van der Boer fellow?”

“Tracking people isn’t that hard,” Percy replied. “Not everybody has a profile as large as yours, Tadworth, but our friend Bill certainly has a record. I ran a background check. He’s been arrested several times, many on account of public drunkenness or harassment. In 2010, he was arrested by South African police for destruction of public property. 2014, arrested in Aruba for sexual harassment. Earlier this year, arrested in Northern Ireland for harassing three Catholic schoolgirls. Ah, little papist birds probably deserved it.”

“Impressive,” Dietrich said, clapping his hands. “And any knowledge of his trip to Jakarta?”

“Well, according to flight logs, his flight had landed in Jakarta a week ago. Since then, he hasn’t been seen, but there was a mosque that was recently destroyed. I say we start there.”

“Since you’re so smart,” Walter scoffed. “Why shouldn’t you be able to tell us where he is right now?”

“I’m an intelligence officer, not a magician, Tadworth. But since you seem to think you’re so much better than me, why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I don’t have the resources,” Walter gulped.

“I figured. Take away your money and position, and what are you?”

“I am a ruthless entrepreneur of pure Anglo-Saxon stock!”

“Gentlemen, please,” Julia cooed, returning with everyone’s drinks. “Let’s try to calm down. We’re all working towards the same goal.”

“Thank you,” Walter nodded, taking his drink. The whiskey began to calm his nerves.

“So, Fräulein Montgomery,” Dietrich asked between sips of lager. “What are your opinions on Herr Rockford’s plan?”

“I think it’s quite wonderful, really. I have no objections at all.”

“What’s your endgame?” Percy asked, sipping his martini. “Do you want to be some girl boss like Maggie Thatcher? God bless her.”

“No, I have a great deal of respect for Mrs. Thatcher, but my role is to serve the leaders. Lord Rockford, and the likes of you, of course.”

“Serve, huh?” Percy licked his lips. “And how can you serve us?”

“Well, Lord Rockford instructed me to complete your requests to the best of my abilities.” Percy nodded, stood up, and whispered into her ear. She gasped, and her mouth widened into a grin. “But of course, Mr. Devereaux. Right this way.” Julia grabbed Percy by the hand and took him to another section of the cabin.

“That’s another Devereaux girl for the books!” Percy called out, pointing to Dietrich and Walter while laughing. The two closed the doors, and Walter sighed in annoyance.

“Fräulein Montgomery is quite a beautiful Nordic woman,” Dietrich pondered. “What say you, Herr Tadworth?”

“I’m a married man,” Walter sighed. “My wife cleans up my piss. What more can a man ask for?” Dietrich laughed and raised his glass to Walter.

By the time the plane reached Jakarta, Percy and Julia had finished. Percy was smoking a cigarette and conversing with Dietrich, while Walter was staring intently at his bank account balance on his phone. $12,978,356,014.88 in balance. This of course, was only his personal account, and did not include his shares within Tadworth Technologies, of which he owned 80% (the other 20% was divvied up between his nephew George Clifford Tadworth, and his CFO Andrew Northam), or his second Swiss bank account. He smirked, knowing that was something Devereaux could never take away from him.

The Patriots were escorted by Julia to a black car. As they boarded, the chauffeur drove them into the city of Jakarta. To Walter, it looked utterly disgusting. In his eyes, it was an Asiatic megaslum, with hideous oriental architecture and a populace of dangerous Muslims wearing headwraps and black hats. The chauffeur took them to the site of the destroyed mosque. The sight of a primitive religious building made Walter sick, but he was happy to see it destroyed. The Patriots exited the car, and they examined the rubble. They saw a local man, wearing a black songkok hat and white robes, looking through the rubble. His eyes were bloodshot, from a mixture of dust and tears.

“Excuse me,” Percy asked, trying to get the man’s attention. “Do you speak English?”

“I know a little bit,” the man replied.

“What’s your name?”

“Hasan.”

“Alright, Hasan. Do you know where the man who destroyed your mosque went?”

“That was no man,” Hasan stammered. “It was a great orange demon that tore through these holy walls like a typhoon.”

“Just tell us where it went, Moslem!” Dietrich barked.

“It went that way, into the neighborhood!” Hasan cried.

“Thank you,” Percy nodded, patting Hasan on the back.

“Oh, if you don’t mind me asking,” Hasan chimed in, as the Patriots began walking away. “You three seem like wealthy gentlemen. Our imam set up a fund to donate money to rebuild the mosque, and if you’re willing to donate, we would really appreciate it.”

“Take a hike, freeloader!” Walter shouted. “We don’t want to spend a single cent on your fucking terrorist house!” Hasan backed away and ran off in fear. Walter spat and followed Dietrich and Percy as they headed into the neighborhood. The buildings were all cluttered together, and they were forced to look at the large population of dark-skinned Asians. They passed by a fruit vendor who was selling durians, and the smell was so strong, Walter wanted to throw up.

After asking around, the Patriots were able to trace William van der Boer to a bath house, which was a front for a brothel. As they headed inside, Percy did the talking, and the madam led them to the room where van der Boer was. Walter looked around at the workers in the brothel, who eyed him seductively and blew kisses. He felt ashamed to feel attraction towards them.

When they arrived at the room, they found Bill van der Boer inside with two women. He sat on a couch, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and sunglasses over his eyes, and sweating profusely. He had his arms wrapped around the two women, who looked like they were on the verge of crying.

“Go,” Percy barked to the two women. They nodded and ran outside of the room.

“What the hell?” Bill cried, sitting up. “Those were my girls!”

“William van der Boer,” Percy said, crossing his arms. “On behalf of the Right Honourable Lord Rockford, I’m going to have to ask you to come with us.”

“Call me Bill, first of all, and why should I go with you?”

“If you value Protestantism, you’ll care who Lord Rockford is,” Walter explained. “If you value supremacy of the Germanic race, you’ll hear us out about the Patriot Initiative.”

“Patriot Initiative? Sounds interesting.”

“Yes, well, we’re not safe here,” Percy explained. “If you come with us, we’ll tell you all about it on the flight back to London.”

“London! Let’s go!” Bill stood up, dropped the towel, and changed into an orange bathrobe and sandals.

“Do you need to collect any other belongings?”

“Nope! I’m fine like this.”

Percy nodded and escorted Bill out of the bath house, with Dietrich and Walter behind them. However, when they got outside, a group of ten Indonesian police officers were standing outside, pistols out.

“You are under arrest!” the lead officer shouted. “You destroyed the mosque!” Bill began shaking, and his skin grew red with anger, almost orange.

“JAN! PIETERSZOON! COEN!” Bill screamed, and his muscles expanded as he grew in size, tearing his bathrobe apart. He roared and swiped at the officers, sending four flying back and colliding into buildings. Percy drew his handgun and shot the remaining six officers with extreme precision. Now that the police were taken care of, the Patriots had to worry about a feral, rampaging Bill. Dietrich drew a canister of chemicals from his pocket and twisted it open, releasing a yellow gas. He threw it up at Bill’s face, and he immediately became unconscious, his body reverted back, and he fell onto the durian vendor’s stand, smashing several of the fruit open. Percy commanded Walter and Dietrich to pick up his body, and they carried him back to the black car. Walter felt extremely insulted, carrying the body of a naked soccer hooligan who smelled of stinking fruit on his shoulder. This type of menial work was not meant for someone of his ethnic and economic caliber. However, once they were in the car, they sped back to the private jet, and Walter would never have to visit this dreaded country again.

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As the Patriots had gone to Jakarta, a man had kept an eye over them. He wore black robes that made him look like one of the local Muslim populace. He watched as they went to the ruined mosque, to the brothel, and their altercation with the police. As he watched one of the men draw a handgun and shoot the police, he had what felt like déjà vu, or even a flashback. The ring of a bell. The smell of tea. A man in a top hat drawing a pistol. A shot to the head. The man gasped and groaned as a sudden headache overcame him. He watched as the Patriots ran off with the unconscious body of the one who had become a giant orange monster. Retreating to an alley, he turned on his earpiece and began a call with his superior.

“Lion to Aleph, do you copy? Over,” he asked.

“Aleph to Lion, I copy, over,” a deep and garbled voice said on the other end.

“Good. I tracked the Caretakers’ plane and observed the party as they travelled through the city. They recovered the orange asset, over.”

“Damn. Well, good looking out, Lion. Return to your home until further instruction. Over.”

The call went to static, and the man codenamed Lion switched his earpiece back off.