The Quantum Mantra

by Henri-Paul Bour

Back in Bangkok, Sumit had received a call from Boon, his assistant nurse from the Mae Sot Camp. His call came as a surprise as no one had heard from Boon for at least two days when he disappeared from Sumit’s training place. It could only be assumed that he was hiding, afraid of the gang, but more importantly, to be denounced to the police by Lek.

  Noi, the nurse they found agonising in the forest, had whispered, before he died, that Lek was in love with Boon and became frustrated when she realized he had left without giving any news. The usual saga of Thai women jealousy at is peak.

  Boon didn’t elaborate on the phone. All he managed to convey was an urgency of tone.

  “I know who he is, the mastermind behind the Burmese operation. Be extremely careful. I will leave you a message early tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

  Pascal’s wanted to meet with Boon. Sumit didn’t really agree, but Pascal was adamant.

  Next day an anonymous messenger delivered a note to Sumit’s house. It read: “General Pong, soi Tevek, 8 a. m. Pakong Talad. I will be there. Boon.”

  Sumit was terrified.

  “Pascal, I know this man. He is very powerful and can crush you any time. I recognize that address near the famous flower market. It may be a trap!”

  But he couldn’t change Pascal’s determination to follow his intuition.

  “You see, Sumit, it is more a military invitation than a gang style correspondence.”

  Sumit gave up trying to stop Pascal, but promised to follow, undercover.

  The fact that Boon would also be in attendance was hard to fathom, but Pascal knew he had to go and that he had to be there on time. He did remember Placido telling him to be extremely careful, so today there was only time for a quick shower, but no yoga or leisurely breakfast. At 7 a.m. the traffic was already jam-packed and his taxi was moving nowhere. He jumped out to hail a motorbike taxi and showed the driver the address written in Thai on a piece of paper.

  “Oh, Oh!,” the driver exclaimed, fixing up his belt. “You go to the General Pong palace?” He grinned whilst handing Pascal a helmet.

  “Lucky you! Everybody knows him; he is a very important man!”

  The motorbike driver took off, almost forcing Pascal off the seat. Reflex caused him to hang onto the driver like a desperate little girl.

  Pascal was now staring at Boon, who was somewhat nervous. It was only an hour ago that he had received the message. He was finding it hard to remain patient while listening to his host, this bizarre authoritarian regale stories that were totally unrelated to the purpose of their meeting. The arrogant old man in front of them would not cease to vomit paradiddle tales.

  “What is history, if not a recollection of events written afterwards by the conquerors? Nothing is more unpredictable than history. The truth is generally not necessary to create a legend, but a legend is necessary to create a spirit of community,” he raved.

  Pascal’s powers of meditation were truly finding application here.

  “Baghdad, as we have said, was the most sophisticated city in the world, and the biggest one too. It was the capital of the “Abassides", the Muslim dominance in the region and built more than one thousand years ago by the powerful Caliph “Al Mansour". He ordered the best architects of that period at a time when the developed countries were uncivilised, living in mud and straw huts.”

  “Yes but....” Pascal couldn’t manage to interrupt the old man.

  Before their meeting had begun, Pascal had been warned to show the utmost respect for this man.

  “This man will give us the information we need,” insisted Boon.

  Even though Pascal knew very little of the man, the stench of his hypocrisy was undeniable.

  “ I have always been very good at making speeches and not just because of my English education at a famous British Academy.”

  His chin was slightly more raised at this last comment, directed especially to Boon and Pascal. He sat in an elegant historical colonial palace—more of a mansion with carved columns—located next to the Grand Palace in Bangkok’s historical center.

  Both the visitors were comfortably settled in Lutyens benches out on the veranda, enjoying their morning tea. They were surrounded by the magnificent tropical garden overlooking the river. The old man had stood up now, and was pacing in front of them.

  Pascal wondered what he had hoped to gain from this encounter. What was the point in listening to a retired general’s speech on historical and political tribulations? Of course the tea was excellent and the view of the river charming, but was he just wasting his time—or was this a diversion? He kicked himself for not even weighing up the options, but this didn’t seem likely as Boon looked at ease.

  These were the thoughts bouncing around in Pascal’s head when he failed to notice the general’s stance. He was looking straight into Pascal eyes, waiting for him to register his stare.

  “Boon is with us, he’s on our team, “he said

  “What team are you talking about?” asked Pascal, completely startled.

  “Do not interrupt! Listen!” he barked again.

  “Listen to which lecture this time,” exhaled Pascal.

  The old man ignored the remark.

  “Khun Boon is helping us to fight against a serious political and strategic menace. Someone is trying to develop secret biological weaponry. Let him explain why we asked you to come on such short notice.”

  Boon stood up and spoke with a clear, strong voice.

  “Pascal, I’m sorry I could not explain everything to you on the phone.”

  “For several years now I have been working undercover for this man organization.

  “You are a spy?”

  “I am sorry Pascal but there was no need to let you know and besides, it is too dangerous. A few years ago I heard some rumours that had spread in Yangon about the preparation of a very advanced scientific program sponsored by a secret group, controlled by ambitious and unscrupulous businessmen. I did not know what they were preparing.

  I also heard that they were building of a new laboratory near the capital along the Irrawaddy River. I reported this discovery to this man, my superior, and the information was sent by top priority to London.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me?” asked Pascal.

  “Impossible,” interrupted the old man. “Boon had been recruited by MI6 directly and he was under strict instructions for secrecy. I happen to know them very well.”

  You slimy liar, thought Pascal. You have learnt their language and received training from them. Why don’t you just admit you’re an informant for the British?

  “Through his contacts in the army, Boon discovered the location of that giant secret laboratory, which is very well secured and secluded, and of course he reported it back to us. He couldn’t find a way to penetrate its security however. He only had general information about experiments they had been conducting on live humans. Monks were the main target,” explained the old man.

  “Yes Pascal, at night the bodies were cremated in a neighbouring temple where the community had been placed under strict security. It was shocking, but I found it impossible to obtain more details on the laboratory’s exact activities. I couldn’t figure out their program or clarify the technology involved.”

  “So,” Pascal broke out, unable to contain his words, “imagine your surprise when somebody like me, a simple foreign doctor, was able to rescue one of the lab researchers who escaped. And a Biologist! What a wonderful coincidence for you! Oh, and what chance; Boon was with me!”

  “Exactly,” agreed the old man, completely oblivious to Pascal’s sarcastic tone.

  “And so tell me,” enquired Pascal, “why should London be interested in the small mafia type activity of greedy business men?

  Catching onto his behaviour, the old man put on his mask of diplomacy.

  “Well, we have reasons to believe that is an international matter. Weapons may be involved and London has a role to protect England’s borders and allies from any potential threat. They had to have
MI6 check…”

  “And then what?” argued Pascal.

  “You must hold on old boy; there is more.”

  Pascal was flabbergasted by the old man’s term of address; he was more English than the English themselves!

  “Even though we could not uncover the details of the secret laboratory operations, we discovered something far more important. Our spy satellites had recorded intense activity and exchange of information during the last two years with an other important private research centres in Mumbai, abut we still could not locate exactly the origin.”

  “Do you know what it means?” asked the lecturer.

  “Well no. Sorry; I have no idea,” answered Pascal.

  “Not so smart now, are you Doctor?” responded the man.

  Pascal wished so much to mute that little man’s voice; his presence was grating.

  “It is evidence which demonstrates that a major secret scientific and dangerous research collaboration is being developed between these two private labs, may be creating new biological weapons, and probably with designs to sell the discoveries covertly to the military powers of the BRIC.

  Boon was trying to pacify Pascal’s obvious distaste for the man by speaking as much as possible.

  And it meant that they might have discovered a technology applied to the brain, worse than biological weapons. We had to know what.”

  “But,” interrupted Pascal again, “I heard that The Department of Advance Technology, famous for creating the World Wide Web and GPS tracking systems, are much involved in similar experiments to control people!”

  “Of course,” said the old man. “That’s why they discern that competitive research as a huge threat Pascal, and they fear that their competitors might be ahead of them.”

  For few minutes Pascal drank his tea slowly, trying to assemble these new pieces into the puzzle.

  “What is the threat, exactly?” asked Pascal.

  Boon sat back into his chair and replied, “The problem is that we still don’t know for sure. After U. Aung Win was assassinated in the Mae Sot camp we received information that suggested the weapon he was working might not be biological. In fact, it seemed much more pernicious and powerful. The understanding now is that some of the most advanced physics theories are being applied.”

  “Of course, MI6 London was immediately informed; they contacted the English Government and the White House. Even The Department of Research of the Pentagon, had been working on it. Trust me when I say that everyone is interested in the matter,” the general placed particular emphasis on the word...

  “But in Washington, the President’s inner circle decided not to wait. They instructed all of their agencies including the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security to take precautionary measures. They’ve been ruffling feathers, so to speak.”

  “This explains why they detained the Esoteric Buddhist Master in Los Angeles, which I’m sure you heard about. They probably had some cowboy in their ranks feeling like a movie superstar who wants to show his heroic determination to save the planet in 24 hours.

  Initially bored and irritated, Pascal was now totally alert and captivated by the meeting. The scope of his adventure was extending far beyond what he could ever imagine. A clash of the Titans seemed to be unfolding before his very eyes.

  “So what can I do? Why are you telling me this?” he asked the old man. “I am just one doctor amongst many in an aid organization. Some people say I have some spiritual capacities, but that’s all.” His shoulders remained hunched.

  “Exactly, your capacities are what we are interested in.”

  Pascal’s muscles loosened in surprise.

  “You have to collaborate with us; we need to know what they prepare and where it happens and your information is much more updated than ours.”

  Were they referring to the video? Pascal’s suspicion was taking shape.

  To drive his point home the general thrust his hips forward.

  “I hope you realise we cannot let any government develop some control threatening program we are not aware of” he said, pointing to his own temple as though he were the main target.

  “No?” asked Pascal. “Isn’t that what most governments do anyway?”

  The general jutted his left foot out a little more quietly this time, but with the same amount of pomp he replied.

  “Yes, right indeed; but only to a certain extent.” He felt the need to add, “But this is not the right time to elaborate, anyway.”

  “Then let’s not waste time,” said Pascal calmly, like a parent who, aware of their power, feels no need to raise their voice. “Let’s imagine you are right and you are the people who are willing to neutralise that threat to all of humanity. Then, of course I am ready to help.”

  Pascal considered that such involvement could help Mayumi and Placido at a moment they were defenceless and isolated. This was something he was not happy to do, however, he personally did not have any inclination towards organizations serving their government own hidden agendas.

  “And one more concern, if you really want to protect the citizens of the world. You need to take care of Ma Sue, the Burmese biologist’s daughter and my friend Ram, who are both in great danger from dangerous gangs in Thailand. Keep in mind that Ram is also an expert in codification—specifically in “Abugida” Sanskrit encryption—you might find him useful in deciphering old scriptures, which seems to be what we need now. They both need to leave the country immediately. Can MI6 assure their protection in London?”

  “I am entitled to take necessary measures,” replied the old man, irked that he was being ordered around.“As to my movements,” continued Pascal, “I, too, will have to travel soon, although my itinerary is not fixed. Today, I want to finish talking to some people here in Bangkok. However, I want to receive confirmation from MI6 in London for all of this.”

  Pascal was taking precautions. If he was going to work with them directly, he needed to keep some privacy. He needed to visit Mayumi in Italy, but he didn’t want her name even mentioned within the scheme of things. His tone suddenly became more strident.

  “Please let me know if you accept my conditions. If so I will collaborate.”

  The old man swung his body towards Boon, as though offended by his friend’s behaviour. It was always easy to blame those around you instead of those actually responsible.

  ,“Very well then,” he replied, clearly irritated. He turned away, staring into the glowing river. “We will contact you tonight.” He left the room swiftly, clearly vexed. An old oriental man could not lose face.

  On his way back, Pascal noticed a Black Toyota. Was it a coincidence that the man seated in the back resembled Bo Badan, the Mafioso? Pascal started to be scared. He realized that, if true, the information he had just received from Boon and the old man was a time bomb. But was it true?

  Was that new conspiracy just a story from the general to cover something else? To use him? For what?

  He had to listen now, more than ever, to his intuition.

  …

  “The now that passes, produces time.

  The now that remains produces eternity.”

  Boethus