The minister picked up a remote control and turned on the television. There was a Mexican soap opera, translated into Malay, but she wasn’t paying attention. She turned up the volume until Henry could scarcely hear her voice. She indicated where listening devices were planted about the room. “You put me in a difficult place,” she said. “I must tell you something in confidence, so you will not need to pursue this.”
“I’m not going home without slides.”
The minister laughed soundlessly. “It’s funny, you see. They weren’t at all ill.”
“They’re dead.”
“Because we rounded them up and shot them!” she exclaimed. “Revolutionaries. Insurgents. Undesirables. The camps are full of them. You Westerners have no understanding of what we have to deal with in this place. Of course we don’t report such actions exactly. We offer other reasons. The coroner, maybe he makes a story. So, I am sorry you come such a long way to learn our little secret. Please, do me the favor of keeping it to yourself. You will place me in great jeopardy.”
If the minister was telling the truth about the cause of death among the detainees, it was doubtless true that she was placing herself in danger by confiding in Henry. Disloyalty was harshly punished. And yet.
“I still need to tour the camp,” he said.
Minister Annisa abruptly stood, her eyes afire. “Out of the question! It’s a security risk. The camp is run by armed gangs. They make a living on kidnapping. You cannot go in. Out of the question!”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“It’s not your decision!” she said. There was an edge of hysteria in her voice. “Look, supposing the place is a pesthole, what can we do with our meager resources? You make us a pariah. Tourists will not come. Why do we have to suffer for this?”
“Thank you, Minister, I will give you my report.”
“I forbid this!” she shouted, as Henry departed.
* * *
—
BAMBANG ANSWERED HIS CELL right away. “Yes, boss, I am here, still waiting. One minute, I am there.”
Henry stood under the awning. The rain had slacked off to a mild drizzle. Soon a three-wheeled motorcycle rickshaw puttered up. Bambang stepped out with his umbrella and a sheepish smile. The little vehicle was painted in exuberant colors that Henry might have described as cheerful, had it been less unwelcome.
“What happened to the Toyota?”
“My brother-in-law, he demand it back.” Bambang set Henry’s bag in the tiny cabin. “Much faster in traffic,” he said, a clenching argument.
Henry could feel his teeth grinding. It was going to be a very close thing. He hoped the French doctors were brisk and efficient and had the isolates already prepared. He had gotten the coordinates for the Kongoli camp from a satellite image, but Bambang already knew the location. “It’s for the gays,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“The gay people, they put them there. Better for them, the authorities say. Otherwise, they are flogged, maybe they are hanged, some they drop from buildings. The extremists do this. So, the government hides them in these camps.”
“But everyone knows where they are?”
“Of course,” he said cheerfully.
They rode past flooded rice fields. The monsoon and the rising seas were drowning the country, water meeting from above and below, like a toilet flushing the land away. Five years from now, ten, twenty at best, the coastal areas would be submerged. This was normal now. Everybody accepted that disaster awaited.
Potholes. Buzzards on fence posts. A herd of water buffalo blocking the road, Bambang honking until the beasts laconically moved aside, an unmarked road, a gate, a guardhouse, Bambang turning into the road, a soldier hustling out, angrily shooing him away.
“They say no,” Bambang informed Henry.
Henry summoned as much authority as a man might when stepping out of a pink and green rickshaw with Hello Kitty emblems on the sides. He waved his credentials and an official letter from Maria. “Health officer!” he said in his most imposing voice. “See? World Health Organization. UN! UN!”
The guard retreated to his booth and made a phone call. Henry overheard puzzled shouts, and, in a moment, the guard stepped out and opened the gate.
The rickshaw passed tanks and military trucks and a small military cantonment arrayed around a water tower. Presently, it came to a high fence capped with coiled razor wire. Henry could see hundreds of people inside. In front of the impoundment was an overgrown parade ground. On the porch of a small cottage stood a slender officer with his hands on his hips.