Malik Mahmud looked to the top of the ridgeline above the cave. “What did you hear?” Mohagher Iqbal asked. They were speaking in English, as Mahmud’s Bahasa Indonesian and Iqbal’s Filipino Tagalog didn’t mesh well. Iqbal pointed his AK-47 to the north and threw his cigarette to the ground beside the Toyota pickup truck. The three trucks were parked pointed down the valley between the separate mud huts. The walls of the huts hid the vehicles well, except from someone looking above. They both looked into the dark. Mahmud put his finger to his lips, signaling for his fellow guard to be silent. The mountains were silent. The cloud cover blocked any shape of the higher mountains to the west. Finally, after several minutes of silence, Mahmud spoke. “These bastards always have us on guard duty.” “Your complaining only pisses him off.” Iqbal had had enough of Mahmud, as had the others. “What time is it?” “I thought you wanted us to be quiet.” “It was nothing.” Mahmud hesitated.
