by T I WADE
“Bridge is a better word than control room and cabins are a better word than bedrooms on a ship,” suggested Marie. “Let’s close down the ship for tonight and we can continue our search tomorrow. I feel uncomfortable down here, a bit scared, and I expect that German lady to arrive at any moment. But I think your escape plan has borne fruit, Mr. Mo Wang.”
The rain stopped outside as they turned everything off and closed up the ship to make it look like nobody had been aboard. The pier was wet and slippery as they all ran to the end and climbed the stairs to an empty and darkening house.
The sun had already set and the house stood foreboding in front of them until the first girl turned on the porch lights.
Dinner was a quiet affair later that evening. Everybody was mulling over the future and the unknown boundaries all of them were going to have to cross: new challenges for the three teenagers and crossing boundaries of right versus wrong for the two older ladies. One thing that Mo had noticed was that he had become the man at the head of the table. He wasn’t the unknown guest anymore; he was part of their future.
Later, when Mo was sitting on one of the couches and reading a western lady’s magazine about vacation destinations, Beatrice sat down beside him. Very faint wisps of her expensive French perfume tantalized his senses. She had showered and wore an expensive dressing gown, her long hair wrapped in a towel.
“Want a whiskey?” she asked. “I would love one. I need to sleep deeply tonight, or I’ll be awake thinking about all the horrors we talked about.”
Immediately Mo got up and headed over to the drinks trolley and poured two large single malts, each with one cube of ice, his favorite way to drink this exotic beverage. He walked back, handed Beatrice one and sat down. It was the first time she actually sat next to him.
“Is something on your mind?” asked Mo, and for several minutes she told him about herself. She was 42 and she had been a sports reporter for a French television station. She had been married for ten years when her husband was killed in a boating accident a decade earlier, when Virginie was only eight. After her husband’s death, a large insurance policy paid out and her parents looked after her. She never had to work another day in her life. Her life apart from sports, like skiing in winter and sailing in the summers on the French Riviera was empty. Her husband had been a very good man and was a very big part of her life. She had not remarried and spent her time looking after Virginie. She missed her best friend, Marie, when she was in New York and often spent months at a time visiting her in the States. Virginie had been in a boarding school in the Provence area of France for the last three years and this gave her an opportunity to visit New York for longer periods between the school vacations.
“You must be very lonely,” Mo surmised.
“Yes and no,” she replied. “I love my independence, but I miss my husband still and sometimes wish for company. Now our old world is gone and I am at a loss what to do. Suddenly, I really have an empty feeling. Mo, tell me about you and your life in China.”
“I was born in Nanjing, a small city outside Shanghai, in 1948, three years after the Second World War ended.”
Marie entered the room dressed like Beatrice with her hair also wrapped in a towel, helped herself to a Cognac from the drinks trolley and sat on the other couch to listen to the conversation.
Mo noticed that no matter how these ladies were dressed they looked regal, beautiful, and dangerous, like beasts of prey. He looked around and saw the three younger girls outside on the porch, two playing a game of chess and one of the twins reading a magazine. They also looked bored and he then realized that the time to escape the island was soon, very soon.
“My parents were also wealthy compared to many around them,” he continued now talking to both ladies. “My father was a general in the Chinese army which had defeated the attacks by the Japanese during the war and he was remembered by the government. I went to a boarding school at the age of seven in Beijing, a very powerful school where only the sons of upper government went. My father was an active part of the Communist party when it came to power and in charge of the army under Mao Tse Tung. He retired from military life and joined his older brother several years later when I was fifteen. In every government there are always enemies. His older brother was a prominent figure in the Party and he wanted my father to watch his back. My father did this for many years. In my last year of school I was joined by my older cousin, my father’s older brother’s first son, who was two grades above me and in his last year. He was a very controlled person and totally ignored me. Two years later I joined him at the same engineering university in Shanghai where we studied the same courses. He was two years ahead of me and spoke to me only once. My cousin considered me to be his inferior because he believed that my father was his father’s servant and my father followed his father everywhere. In my last year I was joined by a third family member who was starting his engineering studies. This young man, Lee, was extremely clever. The whole family knew of his aptitude for mathematics and science. I helped him settle into university life without telling him that I was family. I left, became a good engineer in Shanghai studying much of what was being designed by the west. Often stolen parts or pieces of modern electronics were brought into the laboratories of our company to study how the west, countries like Germany, America and later Japan were designing the first working computers and electronic control parts for just about everything.”
“What year was this?” asked Beatrice.
“I had just turned thirty in 1978 when I saw my first computer in parts. It was the size of a car and Chinese people living in America had smuggled it in piece by piece. It had taken two years to get it there and another two years for us to get it working, in 1979. I got married in 1980 in Shanghai and wanted to start a family with my wife, but in 1981 I was transferred back to Beijing to work for my father on some project to do with government security for two years. I was allowed back to Shanghai only twice during this time for a month at a time. I completed the project and returned to my wife who was waiting for me. We spent a year together before I was ordered by my older cousin to join his new company Zedong Electronics in Nanjing, where I was born. I did not want to leave Shanghai but my father ordered me to. My wife had an important job with the City of Shanghai and was not allowed to leave her job to join me, so I visited her as often as I could, still with no children arriving. For four years I travelled back to Shanghai as often as I was allowed, but unfortunately in the last year my wife was not there to meet me anymore; our apartment was empty of furniture and a note told me not to return.”
“Did you ever see her again?” asked Marie.
“Yes, she became the Mayor of Shanghai for ten years and had remarried to a prominent official of the local government. I often saw my wife and her husband, and in later years her three children, all daughters, once television arrived.”
“Did you get divorced in China?” asked Marie again.
“I suppose you could call it that. A letter arrived at work on official paper telling me that my marriage had been terminated. That was the end of that.”
“In what year was that?” asked Beatrice.
“I remember the date well, January 1st, 1990,” he ended sadly. “But what about you, Marie? Beatrice has told me about her life, tell me yours.”
“I grew up in a wealthy family in Paris, went to school and wasn’t a very good student,” Marie began. “I was always ready for the netball, and English sport they played, field or grass hockey, horseback riding or whatever sport was on the menu. Coming from a prominent family, I suppose I was lucky and my grades were ignored. Somehow I was accepted into university on a sports scholarship and began rowing and jumping horses in earnest, representing France in two Olympics, and winning a silver and a bronze medal in jumping. This is when I met Beatrice. She was a sports reporter and she followed me for a couple of years. She is a year older than I. We immediately hit it off and remain good friends to this day.
“I met my hu
sband at the same time and married at twenty-two. The twins came five years later when my international sport career was coming to an end. My husband was a clever man working on the French Stock Exchange and a big sailing enthusiast. He taught both of us to sail. Beatrice’s husband was one of the best and he joined the French sailing team for the America’s Cup. My husband was the team manager and they worked together until a bad sailing accident took the lives of Beatrice’s husband and three other men. After that we moved to New York; it was in 1995. My husband was in charge of a brokerage firm and we have lived part of our lives in New York and part in Paris. The twins are more American than I am and are, or shall I say were, about to enter university this year in Boston. The three girls have always been as close as Beatrice and I are and we decided to vacation on this island, Roatán, to see what it was like. We usually either go skiing or scuba diving and sailing together over Christmas. But with the upheavals in the world economy my husband has been extremely busy for the last few years. We have grown apart slightly and he suggested we leave and take the girls somewhere nice. He was to join us towards the end of January for our last couple of weeks here.”
It was getting late and Mo looked at the clock; it was nearly eleven.
“What happened to your younger family member?” asked Beatrice.
“He is actually in America at the moment and I was going to ask him if he could pick us up in Florida or somewhere on the American coast if we can sail that far.”
“But does your cell phone work?” asked Marie.
“No, but I have something better than that, a satellite phone.” He got up to go to his room and retrieve the one he had been using.
“How come a cell phone doesn’t work, but a satellite phone does?” asked Beatrice as he sat down with the phone in his hand.
“Remember I used to work for Zedong Electronics and when the company terminated everything, they made sure that they would have world communications.” He turned on the fully charged phone and started to dial Lee Wang’s number and then stopped. “It’s not the right time, maybe a little late to call,” he stated. “I’ll call America tomorrow afternoon. I think it is time to sleep. We have had a busy day and I think tomorrow will be even busier. I must go and find my niece. Living in this villa with you nice people has been so pleasant that I actually forgot why I had traveled here.”
Chapter 10
The Calderón Brothers – March
Manuel Calderón was hurrying across the Colombian/Venezuelan border in a rusty old Toyota truck, its rear bed open to accommodate a heavy, moveable 7.62 mm machine gun. He was heading to a meeting with his two younger brothers, Pedro and Alberto, and an important member of the Venezuelan government—and a good friend of the Venezuelan President himself. At this very moment, his brothers were explaining to the Venezuelan VIP that Manuel was detained for worthwhile reasons.
Important news that had passed from mouth to mouth regarding the United States and Mexico prompted a last-minute meeting in Bogotá with other senior members of the Calderón family. Manuel wanted to attack the palace where the government meeting was to be held. His main target was the Rodriquez brothers, who he knew would be attending, because one of his men had seen them gathering at El Dorado airport. But, due to the many stupid Colombian troops who did not desert as ordered, their numbers were too great to risk it. Then, hearing that there could be a Rodriquez family gathering at the Air Force base in Santiago de Cali, he sent word to the limited number of troops he had stationed in the city, to attack the base once it looked like anybody of note had arrived. This futile effort cost him a whole day.
Three hours after crossing the border he arrived at the village where the meeting was to be held. It took a while to get through the army check points and the thousands of Venezuelan soldiers deployed around the village town hall, the meeting place.
“Ha! Manuel, you have finally arrived,” stated Victor, the VIP. Manuel could see that he was a little drunk and rowdy. “Your brothers have been entertaining me and sharing some fine Colombian brandies they brought with them. Why are you so late?”
“Pardon, Victor,” he replied, putting on a false smile and hugging the man he had come to see, “but because of very recent news from Mexico and America I had an unexpected chance to return some favors to some enemies of my family. I didn’t want to waste that opportunity.”
“I will assume that the Rodriquez brothers were together again in Bogotá?” Victor questioned.
“All five of them, even the dog from America and the American runt of the litter whose mother killed my father, Victor. You know I would never keep you waiting if it wasn’t important,” Manuel replied, putting on a straight face with a respectful and humble tone.
Manuel considered Victor to be a fat, useless, Venezuelan pig, but he had large numbers of loyal men, enough to take over Victor’s own country. Manuel had thought that a combined force of his and Victor’s men might be numerous enough take control of Colombia itself, until other family members explained that even with Victor’s men added; the Calderón Cartel still didn’t stand a chance against the Colombian armed forces.
Less than 10 percent of the total Colombian soldiers had taken the cartel’s threats seriously and had deserted. Even then, the deserters were too cowardly to actually join them and just disappeared back to their homes. “Justice will be dealt out soon!” Manuel told his family before he left Bogotá for the border.
“Pedro, Alberto, get me some food! I’m hungry!” shouted Manuel as he sat down for the meeting. His two younger brothers shouted out orders before both joined their older brother and Victor at the table.
“So how many men will you need to take over Colombia, Manuel?” asked Victor, once the hungry man had eaten and drunk some good Venezuelan beer.
“My family says that we are still not strong enough but they have devised a plan to recruit enough men to overthrow the country, Victor,” Manuel replied.
“Are you saying that that the senator told you my men are not strong enough?” asked Victor looking angry.
“No, of course not, Victor! It’s purely numbers. The Rodriquez brothers control about 100,000 men. We have around 30,000 good fighting men if I bring in everybody from all of our friendly cartels, and you have about the same, no?”
“Only 30,000, Manuel? I could offer you 50,000 if I needed to, plus good munitions to go with them,” Victor bragged. Manuel had assumed that Victor had about 30,000 men, but baited Victor to see how he might inflate the numbers. Meanwhile, Manuel knew he really could drum up nearly 40,000 soldiers.
“I understand your army is bigger than mine, Victor,” replied Manuel, stroking the obese man’s ego. “But even if we had 60,000 men between us, they wouldn’t stand up to Rodriquez’s 100,000 men. “
“So what is the plan, Manuel?” asked Victor, grabbing a beer from an iced cooler on the table.
“How many men do you know will join us from Mexico, Victor?”
Victor thought for a moment. “I know the Sanchez family north of Mexico City; they owe me a few favors and they have at least 7,000 members. Then there is the Cortez family further north. They get my shipments over the American border; at least 10,000 men. A thousand in Panama and another small family in Honduras, they get my drugs north for me. I’d say another 20,000 men. How many can you bring to the table?”
“About the same, Victor, plus I have contracted the family you know about in northern Brazil. They have about 15,000 members dealing drugs southwards. We could borrow their men and maybe give them something of value, like a tank brigade or something once we take over the military barracks in Colombia.”
“So now we get these 100,000 men together, overpower the government, and split your country 50/50, Manuel. My President would be pleased to be offered land, a workforce, and some of your best coffee plantations, OK?” stated Victor, rubbing his hands together and reaching for another beer.
There was no way that Manuel would hand over a foot of land to this greedy pig, but he said
nothing and smiled.
“Why not also take over Mexico, Guatemala, Panama, and Honduras? We would then have one of the biggest countries in the world? How about that idea, Victor?”
Victor thought about the idea for a few seconds; it wasn’t a bad idea.
“Why don’t we start with the United States of America, Manuel? I want California and Texas, and then work our way down to Bogotá. You brothers are good fighters and you can collect good banditos on your way north, and take over Texas or Arizona. Our 50,000 drug people in America would add to our numbers and then once we eat some bocas in Washington, we can then sweep down with millions and just keep going. What about that grand plan, Manuel?”
Victor, knowing that the plan was more fanciful than plausible, just looked at Manuel for an answer. He wasn’t going anywhere. The Calderóns would all the leg work and he would just wait for them to repay him with his portion: California, Texas and part of Colombia. He grabbed two more beers, twisted their tops off, gave one to Manuel and silently saluted his still-thinking Colombian partner with the bottle.
For the next hour they discussed what they needed to do to cripple Mexico and then get the Mexican drug gangs to follow them. An idea arose that had possibilities. The Mexican armed forces were not as strong as in Colombia. Plus they could recruit many people on their travels north.
A plan was formulated to begin by deploying small commando groups to destroy all Central American and then Mexican military bases while their men were moving north. At the same time, the armies of men and machinery would start to spread into and through the smaller countries, using captured food rations, vehicles and gasoline to get to the Mexican border, with their numbers growing exponentially on the way.
