by Linda Hawley
“Yes, Miss Torgeson. The bathroom is here,” Chow gestured as he opened the door. “Is everything to your satisfaction?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr. Lai.”
Chow spoke to the bellman, handed him a tip, and then followed him into the hallway. He held the door open to speak to me.
“Would you like a wake-up call this evening or tomorrow morning?”
“No, thank you.”
“There is a Tai Chi class in the garden tomorrow morning at seven. Would you like to participate?”
“Yes, that sounds like a perfect way to begin my visit here.”
“I will arrange this for you. Simply arrive in the lobby tomorrow morning at seven.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lai, for everything.” I sincerely smiled.
As Chow bowed toward me, he said, “It is my pleasure, Miss Torgeson. In case you need anything, please call my cell at any time. The number is on my card.”
“Thank you and good night,” I replied, respectfully returning his bow.
As he closed the door, he hooked the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob. I quickly latched the door and exhaled in exhaustion, then immediately kicked off my shoes, stripped off my clothes, leaving everything where it landed, and moved into the bathroom for a hot bath.
As I saw my natural reflection in the bathroom mirror, I noticed the fine lines near the corners of my eyes—smile lines—that hinted at my years. Taking care of my fair skin all these years had paid off, for there was no age showing around my lips, and of course my high cheekbones and heart-shaped face helped defy my age, along with my bob haircut. I was happy to see that I still had no gray among my auburn locks.
The running and yoga is paying off, I told myself.
As I watched the tub fill, I appreciated the simple perfection of the room. The bathroom was a vision of simplicity, adorned in a light-green marble, with a large, deep tub situated perfectly for a relaxing bath, with a view straight out the wide bathroom door to the far archway. Near the sink was a simple decorative bowl with one fresh ivory-colored lotus flower floating within.
As I looked into the bedroom, I admired the majestic carved bed of rosewood claiming the long wall, with two matching nightstands. The wood was a purplish-brown color, richly streaked and grained with layers. Above the center of the king bed hung an enormous, ornate gold and lead crystal chandelier suspended from an even higher ceiling cove, which mimicked the bed size. I was drawn to the headboard, where two beautifully intricate hummingbirds were symmetrically carved, facing one another. I remembered a friend that once explained the Chinese meaning of hummingbirds as “time that stops.” As I ran my fingers across the hummingbirds, a lump formed in my throat.
Hearing the water fill in the tub, I checked and found it nearly full and glided into the hot water. It didn't take long to drown any remembrances of my dreadful flight. As soon as I let it all go, I was ready to contemplate sleep.
Standing in my towel in front of the matching rosewood desk, I emptied the contents of my purse, searching for the extra-strength Tylenol. I needed to sleep fourteen hours to throw off my jet lag. I swallowed three pills with a swig from the bottled water.
Tylenol sedated me. No doubt the response was the result of my near suicide when I was sixteen years old. I’d ingested a whole bottle of Tylenol after my mother split up my boyfriend and me. I had every intent of dying that night, having apologized to God for not being stronger and then leaving a note for whoever found me. I took the pills in secret while my parents were on vacation. When I woke up in my bed twenty hours later, I was groggy and realized sadly that I was still alive.
In that moment, two thoughts came to me with perfect clarity.
One—I was not alone.
Two—I had a purpose.
My head pounded, but somehow I recognized that the thoughts had come from somewhere outside myself. I accepted the message, whispering “Okay” as I once again surrendered to unconsciousness.
It was profound how that single event changed my entire life. In that simple moment, I felt that I had an understanding with God, an agreement that I would never voluntarily give up my life again until my purpose on Earth was fulfilled. That knowledge—that there was meaning in my life—was enough for me to choose to be strong from that point forward.
The same Tylenol that I’d used to force an end to my life served now as a valium-like sedative for me when sleep was critical; it was the essence of yin-yang, that everything has its opposite force.
I pulled back the covers and slipped into the soft, fine ivory sheets with my head cradled on the pillow. I was asleep in minutes.
Awaking to the gentle sound of Toshiyke Watanabe’s piano on my small iPod speakers, I was grateful to have slept well. I felt rested but could still feel some jet lag weighing me down.
They need to find some way to perfect travel so it's easier on the body. “We should have used all the energy we put into liposuction development into jet lag prevention,” I said out loud to the walls.
As I arrived in the lobby, I immediately spotted Chow, who looked perfectly rested and relaxed.
He greeted me with a smile and a bow. “Good morning, Miss Torgeson. May I show you to the Tai Chi class?”
Bowing with a returned smile, I replied, “Good morning, Mr. Lai. Yes, please. Would you be comfortable calling me Ann?”
“Yes, of course. You may call me Chow, if you like.”
“Thank you, Chow,” I replied with a slight tilt of my head.
I followed him into the same garden that I had seen from my balcony; it was open to the sky. There were beautiful Sakura trees and many layers of green and flowering plants that created an oasis in the center of the courtyard. In the middle was a fountain that splashed the water-loving plants nearby, creating coolness and a soothing sound in the garden.
Chow bowed in greeting to the Tai Chi instructor and spoke to him, then turned to me saying, “Miss Torgeson, this is Mr. Wan, your teacher,” clearly using my last name out of respect for me in front of my teacher.
I bowed to Wan, who was at least a foot shorter than me and appeared to be seventy years old, saying, “Good morning.”
He responded with a bow, cheerfully replying, “Goo moreing, mees.”
I nearly giggled from this un-elderly man’s cuteness.
“I will wait in the hotel lobby until you are ready to depart. Enjoy your exercise, Ann,” Chow said with a smile, exiting.
When another English-speaking hotel guest joined the class, I smiled and said hello, and then the Tai Chi instruction began. I quickly realized that I would have to watch Mr. Wan and do my best to mimic him, because I simply couldn’t understand any of his English. Soon I found my groove in the smooth motions and reached a sense of peaceful contemplation, simultaneously filling with energy. I was breathing deeply and could smell the blossoms nearby. I found myself pondering things from a higher level. It was a new experience for me, and very pleasant.
After class, I bowed to Mr. Wan, thanking him. He beamed.
Chapter 5
BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON
The Year 2012
“What a dream,” I said with a start, sitting up in bed.
Oh man—that was vivid.
I’d been dreaming like this since I was a child. Sometimes when I awoke, they were so real that I could not tell reality from the dream until a few minutes passed. This particular dream of Shanghai felt real to me. Lulu greeted my exclamations with bottom wagging.
“Morning, girl.”
As I sat there petting Lulu, my mind started to get some distance from the dream.
Elinor and I were staying at my aunt’s house in Bellingham while my own home was being built.
I thought about my new house and what I needed to do to get ready to move in. First I needed to make it a safe house.
The network that I was a part of, called GOG, an acronym for Get Out! Government, was an underground organization that operated worldwide. Its mission was to assist citizens around the globe
in uniting to fight electronic tracking and government control of citizens. GOG operated off the grid. This was a tight organization, and the only way into membership was by invitation. There were levels inside the organization—to keep it underground—and only someone from a higher loyalty level could invite someone new in. I had been a member of GOG for many years, along with my husband, before he died. I joined to try to help restore individual freedoms to Americans.
GOG was run by a board of twelve people in three physical locations that were secret from every GOG member, except the twelve board members. Messages were ferried by runners who traveled from country to country. A requirement of membership was that the person had to be gainfully employed with some sort of profession or trade. No job-hoppers, underemployed people, or anarchists were ever invited to be members. GOG believed that all its associates needed to be productive members of their communities and governments, so that change could be permeated at all levels. There were rules to follow in membership.
None of my friends or family knew that I was a member of the organization, not even my daughter. Because of Elinor, I was very careful of the jobs I did for GOG, and they knew that I was limited because of her.
Phone contact with other members could be made, but only with throwaway phones provided by the organization. No electronic communication was allowed. In order to locate an alternative repairman, I left a message with a phone number I memorized, using the code name I was given when I joined the movement.
“B40 for Sim, soon,” I said, leaving the message.
I then pulled the phone apart, crushed it with my foot, dipped it in a bucket of water, and drove to a public garbage can and dumped it.
Every communication in GOG was coded and memorized. If you couldn’t memorize the codes, you weren’t given membership. B40 was my code name, Sim was the designation for a SmartWired job, and “soon” meant that I needed the job done in the next forty-eight hours. The organization knew where I lived, and therefore, no further communication was necessary.
At my Aunt Saundra’s insistence, Elinor and I had moved in temporarily with her when we moved to Bellingham, since her husband had passed away in an accident only a year before, and she had a large house with only her living there. After closing on the new house and before Elinor and I moved in, I’d planned to stay there alone for a few days, leaving Elinor at Aunt Saundra’s so that I could keep a lookout for the alternative repairman who was coming to work on the new house.
When he arrived, I would have to give him the code name for our area, and he would have to give me one in return. Every code name was particular to each geographical region. Both people would have to know the region’s code before they could communicate within the GOG network. The day after I left my voice message, a man showed up at my new door. I had seen his van pull up the driveway; he had Washington plates on his vehicle.
“Tulips,” I whispered to the six-foot, stocky man with short, sandy-blond hair, tanned skin, and a sculpted chin. He looked to be about fifty.
Lulu barked.
“Skagit,” he responded quietly.
I gestured to invite him into the house.
“Joe,” he offered with a smile.
“Hi,” I greeted him, smiling in response.
“Shield too?” he asked, bending down to let Lulu smell him.
“Yeah. Everything. How much?”
“Ten,” he answered matter-of-factly, petting Lulu, who was obviously reveling in the attention.
“Okay. Over there,” I agreed, motioning toward the home’s SmartWired computer.
I handed Joe a slip of paper, and he read it.
Name: Sinéad
Password: SNL10-3-1992
“You’re funny.” He smiled, looking up at me. “Was that the date?”
“Yes,” I replied with a smile. Wow—I guess he got it. I was surprised that he made the connection to Sinéad O’Connor’s infamous Saturday Night Live performance.
I went to my purse where I had been holding fifteen thousand dollars in cash, prepared for a hefty fee to have the work done, and retrieved it.
“Extra for the parents,” I said, handing Joe the money. The extra five thousand was for GOG. GOG members often referred to the organization as “the family” or “the parents” to avoid using the name GOG.
The organization was operational because of gifts like this from its members. Part of membership was the expectation that the members would financially support the organization. Joe opened the package and fanned through the 150 hundred-dollar bills.
“Thank you,” he said, gratitude in his voice as he put the money in his workbag.
After moving his work van into my garage, Joe removed all chips that sent or received a signal from the SmartWired Company. As he was making the unit sterile, I called SmartWired and told them that I had just bought the house and that the system was being removed and replaced with another competing system. It seemed that the customer service entity, a computer, actually sounded smug when I told it that I was replacing the system. My emotions begged me to hang up, but my common sense prevailed, knowing that my hang-up would be tracked in a database that the government would have easy access to.
During the four days that Joe worked at my house, he installed an electronic privacy shield in all external walls of the house. It employed powerful magnet technology to protect my privacy from any technology peekers who targeted my house or me. Peekers could be any number of people: government, hackers, or just nosy neighbors with the right equipment bought through the Internet. I took my privacy, electronic and otherwise, seriously. I was happy when the project was finished and we could speak openly.
“I brought dinner,” I announced as I came in the door, the front door automatically closing behind me.
“Good. I’m starved,” Joe eagerly responded.
“There’s nothing like a delayed friendship to spurn the appetite,” I joked, making fun of the fact that we couldn’t get to know each other until we had the house safe from peekers.
He smiled.
“I’m gonna make you one of my specialties while we talk.”
“What is it?”
“Chicken Piccata, pasta with alfredo sauce, and fresh Italian bread.”
“It looks like you brought way more than that.”
“I haven’t moved in yet, so I had to bring everything to cook with. There’s more in the car,” I explained, smiling.
“Let me get it,” Joe offered.
“That’s okay, I’ve got it.”
While I started to prepare the food, Joe continued to clean up the house from his drywall patching.
“Joe, food’s ready,” I called to him.
“Good. It smells good. Let me just wash my hands.”
We dished up and then sat on the floor to eat, since there was no furniture in the house yet.
“This is delicious, Ann.”
“Thanks. It’s strange to hear you say my name.”
“It’s the job, not me.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“It’s comfort food, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah—and a good ice-breaker, wouldn’t you say?”
He smiled and nodded. “Well you’re all set here. Sinéad is ready. I’ll show you how to customize her.”
“It’s okay, I know how. I had one before.”
“Okay.” He took a few bites from his pasta and then turned to me. “There is some information I need to pass on to you,” he said with a serious tone, looking at me.
“What?”
“The parents need your help.”
“Anything I can do, I will.”
“Funny, that’s what they said you’d say,” Joe replied, smiling kindly.
“Uh-oh. That means I’m predictable.”
“I doubt it.”
I smiled. “What do they need?”
“The parents have a candidate in Vancouver. He needs one more field test to ensure we can trust him.”
“Vancouver, Washing
ton, or Vancouver, Canada?”
“Canada.”
“Why would they need me for a job there?”
“They want someone from outside the area to pose as government, to challenge the candidate in a meeting.”
“Me? I’ve never played that role in a job before.”
Joe offered more information. “You’ll be posing as someone in the Canadian government who’s a secret member of GOG. You will be making contact with the candidate to judge how he acts. You are his test.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve played that role before, you know.”
I nodded. He didn’t pry, but I thought of my time with the CIA.
“Who better than someone who’s actually done it?” Joe added.
“That’s a good point. I just never even considered it before. It seems like a lifetime ago.”
“I know the feeling,” he responded, looking intently at me.
I guess there are a lot of us now.
“If they hadn’t crossed the line and tried to invade people’s lives, tracking human beings like they had, the Patriot Act stealing our individual rights, the IRS overtaxing, local government taking people’s homes because of two thousand dollars in back taxes, then none of us would have left them,” I hotly muttered.
“I agree,” he offered simply.
We were on the same team.
“So the job they want me to do…”
“Details on the paper. Then burn it,” he said, handing me an envelope and three throwaway GOG phones.
“Why three?”
“One to call in the job the day of, one for the job itself, and a new spare for you.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t open the envelope, saving it for later.
“It’s a good fire-starter for my first fire,” I offered, holding up the envelope.
When we finished eating, we stood to gather the paper plates.
“You have a friend in me, whatever’s to come,” Joe sincerely offered.
“And me,” I responded, looking into his eyes.
It’d been some time since I’d spoken to someone at GOG. With my shield in place and the SmartWired feed cut, my house became my sanctuary—a place I knew would be safe from peekers. It was home.
