by C W Hawes
She looked around the spacious suite. It was magnificent, but she was a prisoner and that pissed her off.
She grabbed the breakfast tray and hurled it at the enormous window overlooking the city. Tray, plate, bowls, and leftover food hit the window and fell to the floor.
“Not even a goddamn scratch. Must be that transparent aluminum shit.”
She picked up one of the dining table chairs and hurled it at the locked door. Yesterday, she’d destroyed three pillows, four vases, kicked one guard in the crotch, and decked a second one before she found herself staring at two pistols pointed towards her head. That calmed her for awhile.
“I should’ve had Helene teach me how to dematerialize. Then I would’ve been out of here faster than they could say chop suey.”
She threw herself on a chaise longue, and after a moment found herself rubbing her hand across the luxurious fabric.
“I’ve seen these in movies,” she said out loud. “Never knew people actually used them. Might have to get myself one. That is, if I ever get out of here.”
After a moment, she said, “And that’s beginning to look like a no go.”
She lay on her back, her knees up. “Houston, we have a problem. One lying sack of shit, who hides behind a mask.”
There was a knock on the door and it opened. Two men stepped in. Young Chinese men in black suits, white shirts, and black ties. A third man came in behind them, older, but also wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie.
Dotty stood and moved behind the chaise longue.
Following the three men, came the masked man. He was wearing the traditional men’s long gown in solid gold. The mask was also gold with a black beard and mustache painted on it. He walked with slow and deliberate steps. Behind him two young women carried a chair, which they set on the floor, and in which the masked man sat. Dotty looked daggers at him.
The masked man spoke. His softly sibilant voice sounded ancient and ethereal. “I hear, Dr Kemper, that your accommodations do not please you.”
“They’re not mine.”
“That is true. The accommodations are not yours.” He paused, before continuing. “They could be yours, however.”
“They’re nice, but I prefer my own place. Thank you very much.”
A chuckle came from the mask. “Unfortunately for you, Dr Kemper, you will not be seeing your home again. However, I have a proposition for you. It is like those TV game shows. There are three doors. You pick a door and you get what is behind it. Unlike those shows, I will tell you what is behind each door.”
“Very generous of you.” Sarcasm dripped from Kemper’s words.
Once again a chuckle came from the mask. “Actually it is. Your first option is to marry my grandson. You will produce children. Lots of children.”
“I thought I was just supposed to be his plaything.”
“Nothing is static, Dr Kemper. I have a different plan now. So option number one for you is to marry my grandson.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You haven’t heard the other options.”
Dotty gestured for him to continue.
“Option number two is that you will be the sacrifice which will enable me to open the gate allowing the Nameless One access to this dimension.”
Dotty shook her head. “Definitely not.”
“Very well. Behind our door number three is what I call the zuvembie option.”
“Which is?”
“Unlike the classic zuvembie, you won’t be a mindless creature that only lives to kill. However, you will definitely no longer be in control of your mind. I will control your mind. You will be my slave.”
“I don’t like that option either.”
The Masked Man ignored her comment and continued. “You see, Dr Kemper, it has come to my attention that people are looking for me. I do not fully understand who they are, or what resources they have available to them. What I do know is that they, and you, Dr Kemper, for I know you are one of them, pose a threat to me. To the hegemony of my empire.”
The masked man lifted his hands and shrugged. “Therefore, whoever you are, you all must be eliminated.”
“Why don’t you just pick my brain and then kill me?”
“I could. But then I would simply have information. I’d rather get full value from an asset such as yourself. So what is your decision, Dr Kemper? Door number one? Door number two? Or door number three?”
“I have to decide right now? Don’t I get some time to think this over?”
“Come now, Dr Kemper. From your perspective there really is only one choice. It is the first option. You keep your mind and you get to live in luxury for the rest of your life. However, if you want some time to think things over, so be it. You have five minutes. Start thinking.”
Dotty’s eyes went from the masked man to the two women standing behind him, to the older man standing to one side, to the two men standing in front of where the masked man was sitting.
Five against one. Not very good odds. And then there was The Mask himself. He probably had a trick or two up his sleeves. She was not going to get out of this predicament alive. But she might die trying, and at this point that seemed to be her best option.
Door number four, she thought. And may the Force be with me.
Dotty walked around the chaise longue, placed the palms of her hands together, and bowed before The Mask. “I have made my decision.”
“Good. Let’s hear it.”
Dotty stood up and launched herself at the young man on her right. She gave him a round house kick to the head that sent him sprawling. She pivoted just in time to deliver a kick to the solar plexus of the other young man that saw him drop to the floor like a rock.
The young women charged. Dotty’s powerhouse punch sent the one woman flying.
Then there was a sharp pain and Dr Dotty Kemper’s world went black.
15
__________
◼︎
Mostyn sat at the table. Plates of sandwiches, and carafes of coffee and water ran down the center of the table. The team members, except for Dotty Kemper, were eating and drinking. Mostyn, however, just sipped at a styrofoam cup of coffee. The coffee was just how he liked it: strong with a hefty dollop of cream, real cream.
He’d listened to the reports from Jones and Hammerschmidt, and NicAskill and Petrie. He’d told them what he’d discovered. Then the food arrived and he decided to let them eat before listening to what Stoppen and Baker had found out.
The coffee was hot. Those are good carafes, he thought. His mind drifted back to the morning before Bardon had sent Dotty and him out to attempt the capture of Tommy John MacIlhenney. Dotty had made coffee in her French Press. He liked her coffee. It was perfect. That was definitely one thing she did better than Helene. He smiled. Helene and coffee were like an airplane defying gravity after it had run out of fuel.
Dotty. Would he ever see her again? And if he didn’t, what would he do? He had Helene. But Dotty was Dotty. He’d worked with her for a long time and he’d loved her for a good portion of that time.
He looked at his styrofoam cup of coffee and thought of her making coffee, their coffee, that morning. It was perfect. It was always perfect. Now she was gone, and, in what might have been their last chat, he hadn’t even told her he loved her.
They would get her back. They had to get her back. That was all there was to it.
He became aware of someone saying, “Boss!” He looked up. Jones. Jones was yelling, “Boss”, and Baker was saying, “Earth to Mostyn. Come in Mostyn.”
“I’m here. What is it?”
“Otto was telling us about his morning,” Dr Winifred Petrie said.
“Did you find out something of importance, Dr Stoppen?” Mostyn asked.
“Yes and no,” he replied.
“Okay. I’ll take the good news first,” Mostyn said.
“The buzz is that a very ancient book was purchased and brought to LA within the last year or so. The Huntington made
an attempt to find who owned it, in order to make an offer to buy it. They were not successful. Two private collectors are also pursuing a purchase, but have yet to find the owner.”
Mostyn nodded. “The bad news?”
“My contacts are of the opinion the book is just a legend at best, and a fake at worst.”
Mostyn shook his head. “No. The book is real, otherwise Bardon wouldn’t have us looking for it.”
“So what do we do now, Boss?” NicAskill asked.
Mostyn took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. “I think we know four vital pieces of information. First, the book is real. I don’t think there is any other way to explain the strange cloud formations. Second, the management companies and Ching Wo are fronts for whoever we are after. Third, the fact that the properties owned by Ching Wo are above an underground tunnel system seems to me to be intentional. And finally, all legends are based on truth. Consequently, we are either dealing with Wing Lee himself, or someone who has appropriated the legend. And in either case, the person commands great power. He is, for lack of a better word, a sorcerer of tremendous ability.”
“That all makes sense, Boss, but what do we do with the information?” NicAskill asked.
“I think it’s time we do a turn at urban spelunking, because my gut is telling me that’s where we’ll find the book.”
“Aw, man,” Jones blurted. “We’re not going underground again? Tell me we’re not.”
“Were you listening, Jones?” Mostyn said.
With a smile on his face, Baker quipped, “You used the word ‘spelunking’. That has a few too many syllables for Jones.”
“Fork you, Mr Camera Man,” Jones said. “I know what the word ‘spelunking’ means. I may have blonde hair, but I’m not dumb.”
NicAskill punched him in the arm. “You just don’t want to get cobwebs in those golden locks, right?”
“Shit,” Jones muttered. “Fine. Back to being mole people. I love being a mole.”
“You enjoyed K’n-yan,” Mostyn said, with his best poker face.
Jones threw his hands up. “Alright, alright. When do we take the tunnel tour?”
Mostyn’s phone chimed. He took it out of his pocket and looked at it. When he was done reading, he put it back.
“The report on Ching Wo Company, Inc. came back. It’s a shell company, owned by another shell company, that is also owned by a shell company, et cetera, et cetera. However, it seems the end of the line is a company in Taiwan. The Mo Yan Corporation. It is privately held, but no owners or officers have been found at this point.”
“Is this relevant?” Dr Stoppen asked.
“No,” Mostyn replied. “I think it safe to say that Wing Lee, or his imposter, is the owner. And does the information alter anything for us? I don’t think so. If anything, a Taiwanese company tends to re-enforce the legend.”
“Do you believe we’re actually dealing with this Wing Lee?” Petrie asked.
“Yes,” Mostyn replied. “I’ve heard the voice. It was ancient sounding. Like a whisper emanating from a distant tomb.”
“So where are we going to access the tunnel system?” NicAskill asked.
“There are two entrances that I’m aware of, and there are probably more. One is in the Hall of Records. An elevator, in fact, takes you there. The other is in a bar that was once a speakeasy located in the tunnels. The King Eddy. We’ll try one of these first and go from there. Any further questions?”
No one said anything.
“Finish your lunch. We’ll move out in forty-five minutes.”
16
__________
◼︎
Dotty opened her eyes. The light was dim, barely holding at bay the Stygian blackness. She felt cold and realized she was lying on concrete. The surface was pitted and rough. She sat up and saw that she was chained to the concrete wall. An iron manacle was on each wrist. They were connected by a chain. Another chain ran from the concrete wall to the chain connecting the wrist manacles.
“Where the hell am I?” she said.
“You are in the tunnels below the city.”
Dotty looked in the direction the voice came from and saw a man sitting in a chair on the edge of the darkness.
“Tunnels? Tunnels below LA?”
“Yes,” he said. “They are old. Very old. Many sections are barricaded because they are in poor condition. Other sections are lost to memory because they were here long before the tunnels dug by men.”
“Who are you?” Dotty asked.
“My name does not matter, Dr Kemper. I am to watch you and make sure you are okay.”
“Well, I’m not okay. I have a headache and I ache from lying on this concrete and I’m cold.”
“I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do to alleviate your pain, or to provide you with warmth.”
“Then what the hell good are you?”
“That question has no relevance. I simply serve the master. I am to watch you and make sure you are okay. That you are in no life threatening distress.”
“I will be if you don’t get me a blanket.”
“I am sorry. I do not have a blanket for you.”
“Fine. Be that way.” Dotty stood. She turned around and pulled on the chain. Seems solid enough, she thought. Too bad for me.
She stretched the chain as far as it would go. About four or five feet of play. At least I’m not up against the wall with my hands over my head.
“Even if you were free of your shackles, you would not find your way to the surface.”
“Thanks for the information,” Dotty replied. She turned around to face the man on the edge of the darkness. “So I guess I’m not going to be the blushing bride, am I?”
“I do not know your fate. I only know that you gained the ire of the master.”
“Well, that’s just a goddamn shame, isn’t it?”
“You do not want to anger the master.”
“Between you and me? If I get my hands on that prick the only thing he’ll be master of is worm food.”
“You are in no position to make threats.”
“Threats? Listen, you mechanical dildo, that was a promise. You need to learn the difference.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you cannot keep.”
“Who appointed you to be my mother? Besides, how do you know I can’t keep my promise?”
The man stood and stepped into the feeble light cast by the electric lantern. Dotty recognized him as the older man who’d come into her suite with the masked man.
“You are in grave danger, Dr Kemper. You should not jest.”
She snorted. “I don’t believe in prayer, so that leaves me with jesting.”
“That is too bad.”
“What is too bad is that I didn’t die up there in my room.”
“That is true, Dr Kemper. That is very true.”
***
The elevator came to a stop and the door opened. Mostyn, NicAskill, Baker, and Petrie stepped out. The door closed and the elevator rose.
Mostyn took in the scene before him. They were underground and stretching away from them was a tunnel of large dimensions. The electric lighting was barely adequate and came from naked bulbs in rusted cages, spaced along the walls and ceiling.
The dingy concrete was decorated in multi-colored designs, words, slogans, and declarations of love. The floor was gritty and sticky in places. Plastic pop bottles, trash, discarded office equipment, and boxes of records littered the floor where it met the walls. Baker took a few photos.
After a couple of minutes the car returned with the rest of the team.
“Well, look at this,” Jones said, pointing to the walls of the tunnel entrance, “Graffiti artists of the Underworld.”
“Have wall, will paint,” Baker quipped.
“For supposedly being off limits to the general public,” NicAskill said, “this place seems to be pretty popular.”
“Doesn’t it?” Jones replied.
Baker, looking at a c
ondom on the floor, said, “It never ceases to amaze me where people will decide to satisfy they’re sexual urges.”
Petrie made a sound of disgust.
NicAskill laughed. “Homo horny sapiens.”
Mostyn clapped his hands. “Let’s get ready, people.”
The team members were wearing street clothes to minimize attention and not arouse suspicion. Each one had a backpack.
They opened their backpacks and took out their helmets, each was equipped with an attached electric lamp, a flashlight, and a weapon. The packs also contained water, emergency rations, spelunking equipment, and a light-weight space blanket.
Jones carried the special OUP issued phone which allowed the team to maintain contact with headquarters.
“Let Sumer Base know we are in the tunnels, will you, Jones?” Mostyn said.
“Sure thing, Boss.” Jones made the call and when finished turned to Mostyn.
“They sent you a 3D map of the tunnels, Boss. We’ve also gotten a lucky break. Sumer Base has started receiving Dr Kemper’s subdermal transmitter signal again.”
“That is good news,” Mostyn said, while fishing his phone out of his pocket. When it was in hand, he tapped on it and displayed the 3D holographic map. A flashing green dot indicated where Dotty Kemper was located.
Mostyn studied the diagram for a moment and then called Jones and NicAskill over. “What do you make of this?” he asked.
The two special agents studied the hologram. Jones spoke first. “Doesn’t that beat all. She’s not even in one of the tunnels.”
“More likely, she’s in a tunnel that isn’t on any map,” NicAskill said.
“That’s what I said,” Jones replied.
“Yeah, right, Jones,” NicAskill said. “And Einstein had marshmallows for brains.”
