“As you like,” Dhammasara said, “I will remain here and send some friends to collect it. The sea air doesn’t agree with me.”

Rausing hesitated, then asked, “What exactly are your plans with the weapon? It surely can’t be used in its current state.”

“That is none of your concern, Mr. Rausing,” Dhammasara’s tone grew colder. “We have friends with more experience who can help us with our needs.” Then, he softened and said with a smile, “Just as you are helping us.”

Dhammasara stood and gestured towards the door. The meeting was over. Rausing didn’t rise. “We agreed on half of the money up front.” He looked coldly up at the fat monk.

“Of course. It’s already taken care of. I’ve had it loaded into your vehicle.” Dhammasara gave a thin smile and pulled the door open. Rausing stood and followed him out.

“And the government will continue to not give us trouble?” Rausing stopped at the door. The rain had subsided and the air was heavy with moisture and the sound of insects, which had started their incessant nocturnal cacophony.

“The president is aware of our plans and has been fully supportive.” The smile hung on Dhammasara’s face, but his eyes were empty. Rausing looked away and nodded.

Venerable Dhammasara shuffled heavily through the quiet temple alongside Rausing, who was now eager to leave. “I trust the Chinese are paying you handsomely for your company’s work in the new harbor?”

“Yes, they are a reliable and wealthy client,” Rausing said, annoyed at the monk’s prying question. He paused at the door to collect his shoes and fixed Dhammasara with his grey eyes. “Given the way the Chinese are buying up Sri Lanka, the Muslims won’t be your only problem for long. But then, as you say, it’s none of my concern.” The slightest of smiles creased a corner of his cruel mouth. Venerable Dhammasara didn’t react, but only pressed his palms together, then turned back into the temple.

As Rausing descended the steps outside, the Land Cruiser rolled up to collect him. Rausing slipped into the passenger seat and looked at his driver, Scholz, who nodded back. “All OK, sir?”

“Fine,” Rausing replied, distractedly looking out the tinted glass at the dark scenery as Scholz pulled away. “Get me back to my ship.”

The monk was a fanatic, a fool, and he despised him. But in a week it wouldn’t matter. He would be far away from this forsaken island. The Land Cruiser passed Kandy Lake and headed onto the A9, back east to Batticaloa.

The China Bay Club

Trincomalee, Sri Lanka. That evening.