by R E Kearney
She grasps a small painted carving and inspects it. “You’re lucky to be in Puerto Rico right now. You’ll be able to enjoy our biggest holiday with us. We start observing the Christmas holiday season at Thanksgiving and we will continue into January when we celebrate Día de los Tres Reyes Magos, or as you would say, Three Kings Day on Epiphany. It’s the most important holiday in Puerto Rico, because it’s our tradition to exchange presents on the eve of Epiphany…La Vípera de Reyes…rather than Christmas day. Also, it’s a tradition for our children to gather grass or hay or straw in shoe-boxes and leave it out as food for the Three Kings’ horses. We don’t provide cookies and milk for Santa. Then we reward good kids with presents and candy. Bad kids end up with charcoal or sometimes dirt.”
“Well, I admit that definitely sounds different from an American or even our Canadian Christmas. But, by what you’re telling me, I think you’ve retained your traditions. Don’t know why you’re so bitter about it.”
With a sigh, she replaces the carving. “Sadly, it’s just another part of our culture America attempted to destroy. Over the years things have changed. Today, our children get their main presents on Christmas day, like you do. But, we still give a smaller, humbler and even more rewarding gift on Three Kings Day. We also have parades and festivals, family gatherings and parties.”
“Actually to me, it appears you simply adopted the American meaning of Christmas…you know…conspicuous consumption. Spend money. Lots and lots of money. Spend it even when you don’t have it. That’s what I call the American way. The true meaning of Christmas in America.” After cooling and completing his study of the shop and its merchandise, Robert wanders out of the store.
Back on the street, Rita’s face brightens as she relates her childhood joys. “But, the biggest party is when Old San Juan throws its annual festival at the Luis Munoz Marin Park. It’s really fun. There’s live music, food and drink, and free gifts for some lucky kids. But, the highlight of my day is always when the Three Kings come walking into town.”
“Did any of the Three Kings ever pass out from walking in this heat?” Robert asks as the street heat slams his face, “Is it always this hot in late November?”
“Así es la cosa (It is how it is, whether we like it or not). Puerto Rico is no different from the rest of the world. Every year, we’re a little hotter. It’s the endless fire. And yes, last year one of the Kings did faint during their walk. Although, as I remember, he may have fainted over rum drunk as well as being overheated.” Rita adds with a chuckle as she strides ahead.
After walking several blocks, wiping his sweat-wet face, Robert begins lagging behind Rita. She leads him in and out and around downtown Old San Juan. He accepts that he is simply a lure that she is casting out to see if she can attract some more big fish. But, he wishes she was casting him in water instead of baking him on the paving stones. From the former home of Ponce de Leon, Casa Blanca, to the Departamento de Hacienda de Puerto Rico, Rita leads him past one pastel-painted building after another pastel-painted building, while expounding upon every inch of her city’s centuries long history.
In the beginning, he enjoys following Rita. Her long, shapely, tanned legs encased in tight shorts are far more fascinating to him than the centuries-old buildings she is describing. But, heat, thirst and time begins to take its toll. Robert’s attention wanders and his legs weaken. Rita’s voice becomes a buzzing drone in his overheated brain. She is familiar with the heat. He is suffering. Sweat is burning his eyes. His throat aches for water.
He is so hot and parched that he considers grabbing and drinking one of the bowls of water dotting the sidewalk. “Why are these water bowls here, Rita?”
“For the cats.” Rita points toward a large feline lounging in the shade next to the building. “San Juan is overrun by feral cats. The first sailors brought them.”
Now that Rita has directed his attention to the first cat, he notices the shadows are teeming with cats and kittens. ”Why?”
“In school we’re taught that sailors brought three, four-legged animals to Puerto Rico; goats, cats, and rats. Goats for the sailors and cats for the rats. The sailors ate the goats and the cats ate the rats, which left the cats. Lots and lots of cats. Too many cats. There are more feral cats in San Juan and Puerto Rico than people. They’re a plague.”
As he continues to stumble along behind Rita, he envies the cats cooling in the shadows. After trudging along for several minutes, which seem like hours, Robert notices the scorching afternoon sun has driven almost all of the tourists off the streets. Only a few drones delivering packages and some street cleaning robots inhabit many of the blocks they walk. Even the felines are smart enough to have fled. Wandering about without a crowd exposes them. Which, he suspects, is exactly what Rita desires.
As Rita continues leading him on what he is certain is his death march. His fevered brain recalls the words of US Marine Corps General James Cartwright when he leaked the US involvement in Stuxnet, “You can’t have something that’s a secret be a deterrent. Because if you don’t know it’s there, it doesn’t scare you.”
“Rita, you do know that there are numerous better ways for being recognized in this city than walking yourself to death, don’t you? Don’t you?” Robert proposes as Rita continues ignoring him. “Why are we walking? Why don’t we ride some Flyboards, hoverboards or hoverscooters? How about an electric unicycle? We’ll still be able to see and be seen.”
After repeatedly glancing over her shoulder, Rita beams and quickens her step. “Speed up, I see we’re being followed again. At Calle Fortaleza, we’ll turn right and duck into the Barrachina restaurant. I can identify them there. It’s a major tourist attraction. Always has people. You’ll like it. The Pina Colada was invented there.”
“Is it cool in the Barrachina? I hope.” Breathing heavily and drenched in his own sweat, Robert struggles to catch Rita.
“Yes, it’s cool and their Pina Coladas are chilled. They also have ice water. Lots of cold ice water.”
A turn here a twist there and they arrive. A blast of frosty air is a welcome relief to Robert as they enter the Barrachina lobby. Rita leads him through the hallway to the hostess. Answering the hostess’ cheery greeting with a wave, she and Robert pass through and move to the far end of the bar. Rita positions herself so she has a clear view of the entrance and the other customers.
After chugging two large glasses of water and a Pina Colada, Robert is again able to communicate. “Ah I definitely needed that refresher, for it was Sophocles who said that if you were to offer a thirsty man all wisdom, you would not please him more than if you gave him a drink. So ok, now I’ve had my drink and now I seek wisdom. I’ve allowed you to drag me around this city for hours. Now spill it Rita. What is this information you promised me?”
Rita searches their area for nosey eavesdroppers or other active listeners. Nobody appears interested in them. She leans closer to Robert’s ear.
“The two men who followed you last night are dead,” Rita whispers.
“What! When? Where?”
“At six-thirty this morning, their nanobiological sensors we introduced signaled sudden cardiac arrest from myocardial ruptures.”
“Both of them? At the same time?”
“Yes, both of them. About fifteen minutes apart is what I was told.”
Pushing his second Pina Colada away, Robert eyes Rita suspiciously. “You poisoned them. Same as that couple…the Voleurs…in the coffee shop. You poisoned them.”
Rita raises her hand showing her palm toward Robert. “Stop. Wait one minute. I didn’t poison anybody. All we did was introduce nanobiological sensors and tracking devices into those two men and that couple. Now, we did add a few diarrhea inducing spices to weaken that couple in the coffee shop, so we could gather information about them. But, that’s all Robert. Really.”
Robert stares silently at Rita. He is not certain that he believes her. Nor is he certain that he trusts her. Why should he accept her story? She
has misled him from the moment they met.
“Sorry Rita, I don’t believe you and I’m leaving.” Robert is halfway out of Barrachina before Rita reacts.
Blinded by his anger, he fails to notice the couple that tracked them into the restaurant jump to their feet when he passes their table. Like two wolves, they are on the attack. Robert is alone. He is vulnerable.
Standing outside Barrachina’s entrance, he fingers his PCD signaling for a ride. Focusing his attention on his PCD, he does not hear the man and woman sneak up behind him. Seconds later, Robert is an unconscious lump on the sidewalk. He never knew what hit him.
RITA’S RUMORS
Blazing white sears Robert’s eyes. Pain pounds through his skull. His stomach is churning. He is in agony.
“Wake up buttercup.” Rita chirps far too loudly for Robert’s buzzing brain.
He groans and covers his ears. Cautiously he rolls away from the burning light and buries his face in his pillow. He whimpers a few words that Rita cannot understand.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“What happened?” Robert mumbles a little louder.
“Nanosecond electrical pulse. They hit you with this Nsep stun gun.” Rita shows him a small cylinder that reminds him of his grandfather’s flashlight. “Scrambled your brain instantly. A severe brain cramp. That’s why you’re aching so badly this morning.”
Robert groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow. “I haven’t hurt this bad since I woke under my bed after my graduation party at the University of British Columbia.”
“Estás bueno! (You’re fine!) Anyway, it’s your own fault. I warned you.” Rita wags her finger toward Robert. “You stormed out of Barrachina and stepped right into their trap.”
With his arm covering his eyes, Robert rolls onto his back. Gently, he raises his arm above his face. Through his arm’s protective shadow, he peers at Rita.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did they zap me?”
“Not sure. Kidnapping, I think. I found them struggling to cram you into a shared-use auto-auto. They couldn’t squeeze your long legs inside. When they saw me, they dropped you and ran. Your head bounced on the street. Added to your headache a bit, I imagine.”
“Where did they go?”
“Metropolitan Detention Center. San Juan police caught them three blocks away. The woman fought them, but the man surrendered peacefully. They’re questioning them now.”
Emitting several, loud, sympathy-seeking groans, Robert rises into a sitting position. He closes his eyes and massages his temples. His wrist PCD is stimulating his arm indicating it is time for him to prepare for his visit to Shengwu’s facilities.
“Do you know who they are or where they’re from?” He asks as he twists on the bed and places his feet on the floor.
“Not yet. But, we do know that the coffee café couple…your fawning devotees, the Voleurs…are members of a small, enhanced-genetics watchdog group. And, I don’t think they’re just interested in our sun and sights. According to our sources, it appears they’re being financed by some pharmaceutical organization. So far, we haven’t been able to learn much about their backers. Suspicious group. Real suspicious. Our team also found some evidence in their rooms indicating they have been surveilling Shengwu’s facilities for several months. Collecting information about his patients.”
Rita points at Robert. “We also uncovered some information concerning you.”
“Really? What type of information?” Robert pushes himself into a standing position. He is weak and wobbly.
Rita hurries to his side to steady him. “It appears that you are on a hit list.”
He waves her away. “A hit list? Me?”
Rita silently nods her head in the affirmative. Robert sags back onto the bed. He is no longer just sick. Now, he is alarmed and nervous. “But, they seemed so friendly and harmless.”
“Well, of course they did. Obviously, that’s their method for getting close to you.” Rita asks, “Now, why do you think they want you?”
Rubbing the back of his sore neck, Robert confronts Rita. "Because, you set me up. That’s why. So, I guess you and Negocio are very happy, then. Your plan is working just great. Although, I can tell you that I’m not at all enthused about my situation. Seems to be a lot of pain with little to gain.”
Pointing proudly at a chair draped with Robert’s new clothes, Rita ignores his disquiet and proclaims, “You won’t be sweating today like you were yesterday. I printed a set of our best climate-control clothing for you. Just like I’m wearing. Keeps me cool and comfortable all day, no matter how hot it gets.”
Hesitantly, Robert rises from the bed and shuffles, sorely, toward the chair holding his newly printed clothes. “You mistakenly think that you’ve hired some freedom fighter. Sorry, that I’m not. At best, I’m just a digital defender…a cyberspaceman.”
Fingering and inspecting his new attire, he continues. “Please don’t misunderstand. I do appreciate your help, Rita, and I definitely need these climate-control clothes, but you guys have the wrong guy. I hunt with cyber. This is not cyber. You know, I’m beginning to recognize myself in Rick Yancey’s statement that we are the hunters---and we are also the bait. I don’t like being the bait. Not excited about being the bait at all.”
“Yes, just as we expected, you’re definitely sucking the worms out of the woodwork.” Rita flashes a satisfied smile, ignoring Robert’s complaints. “But, now, it’s almost time for you to strut your stuff at Shengwu’s.”
Dressing, Robert scowls and grumbles, “Before we go, will you at least tell me what caused those two men to die?”
“Not certain yet. They’re still being examined at Hospital Del Maestro. But, it’s something our doctors haven’t seen before. I’ve been told that they’ve isolated their bodies in a type of biohazard containment room as a precaution.”
“A precaution? Against what?”
“Against that heart fever superbug, possibly. We did some DNA phenotyping and were able to trace them to Tennessee…just outside of Knoxville. That’s one of the areas being ravaged by it. People have been dying by the dozens. Faster than they can bury them. They seem to burn up inside. Some say that their blood boils.”
“So why are they here?”
“Nobody knows, yet. They could have come down here hoping for a cure or they may have been banished down here as super-spreaders to infect as many of us as possible. Exterminate us.”
“What!”
“Exterminism! Genocide by unstoppable super disease, Robert. It’s inexpensive, effective and untraceable. Bioterrorism. It’s the perfect murder weapon.”
Shocked by Rita’s accusation, Robert challenges her. “Now wait a second, you’re not making any sense. Genocide? Nobody hates anybody that much.”
Rita slowly shakes her head in disbelief at his naiveté. “Really? Do you think this is a new idea or the first time for the US? How many indigenous natives did American settlers and the US cavalry kill by infecting them with blankets containing small pox? The US devastated them with disease and then when they were too weak to fight they stole their land.”
“Uhmm…?”
“Thousands. Thousands of innocent women and children. Americans purposely spread diseases that killed thousands...hundreds of thousands. Exterminated entire tribes. So, why do you think they aren’t doing the same thing here? We are in a war, you know.”
“War? War with whom?”
“War with America. It’s an undeclared, clandestine and covert war, but it’s a war nevertheless. They didn’t want us to leave, because it embarrasses them. Yet, they still consider us and treat us as foreigners. Rebellious foreigners they don’t like. They don’t have the resources to openly attack us, and they certainly don’t want to look any worse to the international community, but they can cripple us in other ways…like enabling another pandemic similar to the Zika virus. Back in twenty-sixteen and twenty-s
eventeen, the US Congress refused to fund our fight against Zika, so it crippled us. Keep us sick – keep us under control. That’s their plan. Or they may just wipe us out. Exterminism!”
“Oh, don’t be so paranoid, Rita. I was in the US before I traveled to SPEA’s Venus and then Ethiopia. Puerto Rico may be independent now, but it is no different from everywhere else in the US.”
Standing before a mirror, Robert primps and inspects himself. “War on the poor. That’s what we’re calling it in Canada. America’s war on the poor. America’s sovereign cities and Metrostates are prospering and growing. But, the Sists in America’s countryside and rural small towns in the wastedlands are suffering. No medicines. No medical care. No training. No work. No future. And ironically, those impoverished souls are the same people that put this government into power. Sealed their own doom, you might say.”
“Ok my Canadian friend, so why do you think they’re down here? For our sun and surf?” Rita challenges.
Rubbing his temples, Robert frowns at his image in the mirror. His head is still vibrating and aching. “Unlike you, I don’t know who they are…or were…yet. So, I’m not prepared to jump to any conclusions. So for the moment, I’ll just rely upon the wisdom of Robert Burns. He wrote that suspicion is a heavy armor and with its weight it impedes more than it protects. So Rita, let’s look for more evidence before we accuse.”
“Ha! Está más perdido que un juey bizco (You’re more lost than a cross-eyed crab).” Rita scoffs.
“What?” Robert fakes not understanding her insult.
“I said that you’re more lost than a cross-eyed crab. Doubt me if you dare and at your own risk Goodfellow. Obviously, you didn’t learn anything from your Nsep yesterday. Yes, I may be paranoid, but when I say that someone is out to get you – pay heed. My warnings are based upon fact. ”
“In fact, the fact is that Negocio’s and your plan is working.” Robert grouses. “Working too well for me.”
Finally groomed and dressed, Robert motions Rita that he is ready. “Let’s go see Shengwu, so I can start doing something I’m actually good at doing. Let’s kick some cyber butt.”
