20: Trading Secrets

The black armored SUV cut through the deserted streets of Menteng like a razor, its headlights slicing through the humid midnight fog. In the passenger seat, Galen Prakoso checked the magazine of his Sig Sauer for the third time, the metallic click ringing sharply inside the quiet cabin. Beside him, Bagas kept his eyes glued to the portable tactical tablet resting on the center console.

"GPS is locking onto the coordinates from the flash drive," Bagas said, his fingers flying across the interface. "Sector 4. It’s an abandoned railway depot behind the old colonial-era warehouse district. No public cameras, no active municipal patrols. Whoever dropped that thumb drive wanted a private slaughterhouse."

Galen didn't answer. His gaze flicked to Nurin in the back seat. She was sitting upright, her face half-shadowed by the amber streetlights flashing overhead. She wasn't trembling, and she wasn't panicking. She was staring down at the small black flash drive resting in her palm with an expression of cold, unyielding resolve.

"You don't have to come into the depot with us, Nurin," Galen said, his voice dropping into a firm, protective register. "Stay in the vehicle with Bagas."

Nurin looked up, her dark eyes locking onto the back of his head. "We both know that's not an option, Mas. That ghost on the screen used my family's name, and they left a message meant for both of us. I go where you go."

Galen didn't argue. He knew better. He shifted the SUV into a lower gear as the paved road gave way to cracked, overgrown gravel.

The vehicle rolled to a silent stop behind a rusted stack of shipping containers fifty yards away from the sprawling, dilapidated railway depot. The structure loomed against the ink-black sky like the skeleton of a prehistoric beast, its shattered windows gaping open like empty eye sockets.

"Bagas, keep the engine idling and the comms channel open," Galen ordered, killing his headlights and pushing his door open. "If we don't check in within twenty minutes, send the federal backup to our coordinates."

"Copy that, boss. Watch your six," Bagas muttered, handing Galen a high-frequency tactical radio.

Galen and Nurin slipped out of the SUV, moving with the practiced stealth of predators navigating an unfamiliar hunting ground. The cool midnight air smelled heavily of rusted iron, damp earth, and stagnant rainwater. They crossed the open stretch of gravel, hugging the shadows of the depot's corrugated metal wall until they reached a side entrance hanging loosely off its rusted hinges.

Galen gestured for Nurin to stay back, raising his weapon as he stepped cautiously through the threshold into the pitch-black interior.

The vast railway hangar was illuminated only by narrow shafts of moonlight cutting through the holes in the corrugated roof, casting long, eerie beams across the dusty concrete floor where old, rusted railcars sat abandoned.

"Prakoso," a voice echoed through the cavernous space, smooth and digitally altered just enough to strip away any human warmth. "I was beginning to think you got lost in your own corporate lobby."

Galen froze, locking his sights toward the center of the hangar.

From the shadows beside a rusted flatbed railcar, a figure stepped out into a shaft of moonlight. He wasn't wearing a tactical vest like Yudha's men, nor was he dressed in a corporate suit like Haris. He wore a simple, dark trench coat, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. As he stepped closer, the moonlight caught the sharp, aristocratic plane of his face, revealing a man in his late thirties with chilling, light-colored eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" Galen demanded, keeping his weapon steady and centered on the man's chest.

"Name's Julian," the man replied, a faint, mocking smile touching his lips. "Though I suppose your wife remembers me by a slightly different title."

Nurin stepped past Galen, emerging from the shadows into the moonlight. Her breath hitched, her posture stiffening instantly as her eyes widened in profound, undeniable shock.

"Julian..." Nurin whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a curse. "You're dead. The crash off the Sunda Strait... the wreckage..."

Galen’s head whipped around to look at Nurin, a cold spike of adrenaline piercing his chest. "You know him?"

"Know me?" Julian laughed softly, a dry, grating sound. "Galen, my dear CEO... before you married her, before she started wearing your rings and sleeping in your bed, Nurin Qistina was my wife."

The hangar seemed to spin on its axis. Galen stared at Julian, then back at Nurin, the words hitting him with the force of a physical blow.

"Your... your husband?" Galen’s voice dropped into a dangerous, lethal whisper. "You told me you were never married before me."

"There are a lot of things she didn't tell you, Galen," Julian said, taking a casual step forward, unbothered by the barrel of the Sig Sauer pointed at his heart. "Like the fact that the Qistina family debts weren't just handled by Haris Danuarta. I was the one who bought the primary promissory notes. Nurin married me first to save her brother, and when that fell apart, she faked my death in a boating accident so she could slip away and sink her claws into the great Galen Prakoso."

"Shut up, Julian!" Nurin screamed, her voice cracking with a raw, desperate fury as she stepped in front of Galen, glaring at her former husband. "You lied to me! You were working with Haris the entire time to destroy my family!"

"Oh, sweetheart, I wasn't destroying your family, I was liquidating an asset," Julian corrected smoothly, his light eyes flashing with a cold, predatory gleam. "And now that Haris is out of the way, Prakoso-Qistina Holdings is ripe for the picking. Unless, of course, you want me to share a few very interesting legal documents with your new husband about your first marriage."

Galen slowly lowered his gun an inch, not because he trusted Julian, but because the weight of the revelation felt like a massive iron door slamming shut on his chest. He looked at Nurin, his voice dropping into a hollow, emotionless void.

"Is it true?" Galen asked, his eyes burning into hers. "Were you still legally married to him when we met?"

Nurin turned around, tears streaming down her pale face, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch his arm. "Galen, let me explain... I thought he was dead! When I met you, I thought I was finally free of him!"

Before Galen could pull away or answer, the heavy sliding doors at the front of the railway hangar suddenly slammed open with a deafening crash, flooding the interior with the blinding headlights of half a dozen unmarked vehicles.

"Federal agents! Nobody move!" a voice amplified by a megaphone echoed across the rail yard.

Julian’s mocking smile didn't waver. He raised his hands slowly, stepping backward into the shadows. "Looks like our meeting is cut short, darling. See you in court, Galen."