A man in a faded bomber jacket and boots caked with dried market mud stepped in.
His name was Bistok Sulangit.
Someone who actually made Siska freeze in place.
Bistok was a man who lived in the cracks of big business.
An opportunistic broker.
A man who knew who needed what, had access to the black market, and had the guts to cut off anyone’s distribution chain who tried to block his way.
Back in college, he was Siska’s rival who always tried to steal her research points in sneaky ways.
“Still working like crazy, Siska?
The dark circles under your eyes are almost the same color as the waste you’re researching,” Bistok sneered with his signature crooked smile.
He didn’t look like a successful businessman, but like someone who had just come back from a battlefield at the port.
Siska stared at him coldly.
“Get out, Bistok.
I don’t need a dirty broker like you here.”
…
Bistok laughed softly, walked in uninvited, and sat in the waiting chair with his legs crossed casually.
He ignored the suspicious looks from Hartono.
“I’m not an ordinary broker, Siska.
I’m a bridge.
I’m the one who will sell this ‘discovery’ to the party brave enough to pay the highest price.
I’ve heard rumors about this white fish from under the toll road for two days, through my small collector network in Muara Baru.
Turns out the rumor was true.”
Hartono stood up, staring at Bistok with a deadly, sharp look.
“This is Samudera Jaya’s internal business, Bistok.
Don’t interfere if you still want to breathe peacefully in Jakarta.”
Bistok responded to Hartono’s threat with that annoying crooked smile.
“The market has no owner, Uncle Hartono.First-come, first-served.
I’ve already got Anom’s name even before you decided to test this sample on these expensive machines.
I don’t need a lab to know that out there is a huge opportunity rotting in the wrong hands.
I’m here to make sure that opportunity doesn’t fall into the hands that can’t manage it properly.”
He stood up slowly, patting Hartono’s shoulder with a little pressure that showed the man’s boldness.
“I just came to give a friendly warning.
I might go to that toll road too.
If I have time, that is…
But I have overseas clients who are very thirsty for rare supplements.
Don’t regret it when you see me already signing an exclusive contract with that ‘Kid from Under the Toll Road’ while you’re still busy arguing over theories in this lab.”
…
Bistok turned around, walking out calmly, leaving behind the smell of cheap cigarettes that contrasted with the luxurious room.
The room fell silent instantly.
Tension hung in the air.
“Pak Haji Mansyur,” Siska’s voice broke the silence, sharp and cold.
“I’ll prepare the car.
We’re leaving as soon as possible.
I won’t let that dirty broker touch the source.”
“I’ll stay at a hotel nearby to make sure no one can get ahead of us.”
Hartono was stunned to see his usually cold daughter now burning with anger.
Siska grabbed her worn-out backpack, ignoring her father’s protests.
For her, this was no longer about science or lab data.
This was a race against the man she hated most from her past.
A man who knew exactly how to turn what others saw as “trash” into “gold” in his own hands.
“Get everything ready,” Siska repeated.
“We’ll seize that secret tonight, before sunrise and before Bistok gets there.”
Siska walked out of her lab, leaving all comfort behind for uncertainty.
…
Muara Baru that night was hot and smelled bad.
Bistok sat at a tent stall at the corner of the port, staring at the big cargo warehouse across the field.
In front of him, Kodir was counting a messy pile of used styrofoam boxes.
“Five fish, Kodir,” Bistok said shortly.
Kodir stopped counting.
He pointed to the warehouse across the way.
“Follow me.”
Bistok got up, following Kodir through the gaps between rusty containers toward a small warehouse.
Inside the warehouse, there was a pile of new styrofoam boxes arranged neatly by destination city.
Kodir took one medium box and placed it on a work table full of brown tape, temperature gauges, and thick plastic.
“I use the standard box usually for 6 fish,” Kodir said while starting to prepare the plastic.
Fill with 30 percent water, the rest pure oxygen.
If the water is too full, the shaking on the plane will make the pressure inside the plastic unstable.
These are fingerlings, Bistok, their skin is thin.”
Bistok watched Kodir’s hands working quickly.
He saw Kodir put a digital thermometer into the plastic.
“I need this box to pass without going through the X-ray conveyor belt.
If it gets scanned, the shape of the fish inside the plastic will be clearly visible on the officer’s monitor screen.”
“That’s why I brought you here,” Kodir replied.
He pointed to the back door of the warehouse that connected directly to the tarmac area.
“I have access to the service door for cargo technicians.
Tomorrow at dawn, I won’t put this through the public cargo counter.
I’ll entrust it to the technician team in charge of loading urgent airline items.
They have direct access to the plane’s hold without having to go through customs inspection up front.”
“Are you sure they won’t open the box?” asked Bistok.
Kodir took out a big red sticker with a hospital logo and the words “Sensitive Medical Sample.” “I stick this on.
Everyone in cargo here knows that once this label is on, if they open it and the goods get damaged, they’ll have to pay compensation to the hospital.
No cargo worker wants to risk paying millions in damages.”
Bistok nodded, watching the packing process from start to finish.
After the plastic was confirmed airtight, Kodir put it in the box, added some ice packs at the corners to keep the temperature cool, then closed it with the styrofoam lid.
Bistok himself took the tape and wrapped the box until it was completely sealed.
“Okay,” said Bistok.
“I’ll hold the keys to this box until tomorrow dawn.
I’ll take this to my apartment, and I’ll personally deliver it to the loading point at the tarmac tomorrow.
I don’t trust this box being left in this warehouse overnight.”
“Your call,” Kodir answered.
“But remember, if there’s a sudden inspection on the road or at the airport entrance, you don’t know me.”
Bistok lifted the box.
The weight felt right.
He left the warehouse through the side door, avoiding the main port route full of patrol officers.
He walked toward the old pickup truck waiting for him behind a pile of cargo.
Inside the car, he put the box on the front passenger seat, then put on the seatbelt so it wouldn’t shift.
He started the engine and drove slowly out of the port area.
On the way, he stopped at a gas station to fill up.
He got out, checked the tape on the box to make sure nothing was peeling off.
His mind jumped to Sarah.
This partnership was a turning point.
If Purnomo was satisfied with this first shipment, Bistok would have access to much bigger logistics.
He wouldn’t just be an arowana fish broker anymore, but a gateway for all goods that wanted to be “disappeared” from official records.