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“Certainly.” He turned and set off down the wing. “The records are in back.”
Before they followed, Zhuang ordered Yeung and a cadre of their forces to take up posts behind them, to guard the museum and their backs.
As Gray drew alongside Kadir, the man glanced to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much about the building when it was a city hall. My area of expertise is in anthropology.”
“In that case, Director Numberi, you could be of help. The museum has an exhibit regarding the history of Indonesia and its relation to the Aboriginal people.”
“We do.” Kadir raised an eyebrow at Gray. “It explores Australia’s First Nations peoples and their nautical ties to our country. I put together that exhibit myself.”
“You did?”
“I’m from West Papua. But my great-grandfather was a member of the Yolngu People from northern Australia. So the merging of our histories—like my bloodline—is of particular interest to me.”
Gray now understoodwhythis museum had a long history of covering this corner of Indonesian history.
Kadir’s stiff demeanor softened. “Why are you interested in the subject? I know Sir Raffles had a similar long-standing fascination when he was governor, but I know little else about him.”
“Raffles had an interest in Aboriginal people?”
“And in ethnography in general. Besides being a naturalist, he wanted to raise awareness and appreciation of the region’s peoples.”
With these words, Gray felt something shift inside him. That sense of flailing subsided.
We must be on the right track.
As they crossed into the next gallery, gunshots rose behind them. At first just a few pops—then a flurry of rattling blasts. Shouts and breaking glass echoed to them through the darkness.
More looters.
Gray drew Seichan to one side, raising his weapon. Zhuang guarded over Guan-yin. The rest of the triads took up positions flanking the gallery’s entrance, aiming weapons toward the long hall that they had just exited.
Yeung and a group of men came bustling back, sheltering a handful of Kadir’s staff. A sharp explosion lit the hall from a grenade blast. Automatic fire chewed through the smoke.
Gray and the others flattened to the sides.
These were no looters.
Zhuang called to Yeung in Cantonese. The triad deputy shoulder-rolled across the threshold and fired a grenade from a STK 40 launcher. The blast shattered into the hall. Yeung reached their side. Blood streamed from a cut over his eye, but he slapped a fresh 40mm grenade into the weapon’s breech.
Flames glowed out in the hall now.
The firefight momentarily halted as both sides reassessed the situation.
A shout rose from the far end of the hall. “Leave the museum! Leave the papers you secured! And you can walk free.”
The man’s English had a British lilt to it, but he was no doubt one of the Chinese commandos, part of the contingent that had chased off Valya.
Exasperated and frustrated at the stupidity of this battle, especially as the world burned outside, Gray took a deep breath. The fire in the gallery was quickly spreading. The old building was all wooden floors and beams.
Enough.
Someone had to make the first move—and not with a gun.
He cupped his mouth and called back. “We’re equally matched and determined! We can keep killing each other until the world ends. Or we can take a step back. Call a momentary truce!”
Seichan hissed at him. Guan-yin scowled.
There was a long pause, then, “What do you propose?”
