The Hunt for the Tree of Life (Book One 1)

by Zulu, Arthur

  “We are not caged. We are here after all, so it might not be as bad as you think,” continued the first.

  “It could be worse than I think. You both are probably on vacation; are you?” asked the professor.

  “You are right. We are vacationing. We came to know your capital city. It is such a nice place, except for the cold,” replied the second lady.

  “That’s correct. Washington D.C. is built for the politicians. And there is no presidential building like the White House in the world. We are ready to die for it. When the British destroyed the building during the war years, we rebuilt it just like it was at the beginning.”

  “Oh, was it ever destroyed?” the first lady asked.

  “Yes, but that was a long time ago. The city is safe. It is in fact the safest capital city in the world—never mind the failed al-Qaeda bombings. All of us are safe here.”

  “Thanks for assuring us. We were almost getting scared. We just like to enjoy our vacation and return safely home,” said the second.

  “That is not a problem. You are privileged North Koreans—globe-trotting North Koreans. Good for you! I should have thought you were spies. Because that is what the reclusive regime does best—spying on America and the rest of the world.”

  “No, Prof., we are just harmless ladies on a safari,” continued the first.

  Safari? Thought Professor Cramwell. These ladies must have been well traveled. That word has an East African origin.

  “You are thinking Prof.,” said the first lady.

  “Yes, you read faces. I was thinking. Have you been to East Africa before?”

  “Why do you ask?” she replied.

  “That word, Safari, is a Swahili word for journey.”

  “Oh yes, we have traveled to Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania and Lake Victoria bordering Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania. They are some of the most beautiful places in the world,” she answered, smiling.

  Cramwell was feeling uncomfortable. Knowing that these ordinary North Koreans were more traveled than an American professor was unsettling. And they speak good English and use foreign words. He had spent all his years within the confines of American universities. He was one of the few Americans that like staying home.

  Yet, he didn’t want to look stupid. He didn’t want to believe that some African countries had the most beautiful places in the world. Were these not developing countries that ever depend on America for handouts? Cramwell, like all Americans, was proud. Why should they not? Theirs was the world’s number one nation.

  “You seem to be thinking again,” the first lady asked Cramwell.

  “Yes, I was thinking of what you have just said. Those cannot be the best spots on earth. I know that those poor countries have a few world heritage centers. But do you know the countries that have the most?”

  Now, that was a subject the ladies were not prepared to handle. They played smart.

  “We do not know so much about the subject,” answered the second. “Besides, there is only one world heritage site in our country, North Korea.”

  Professor Bright Cramwell laughed.

  “Thank Heavens you even have one,” he said. “Are your leaders not busy destroying the country? There are over 900 heritage centers around the world, and apart from a few European and South American countries, there are few countries on earth that can boast of more world heritage sites than America—God’s own country!”

  “Is that so?” they both said.

  “Yes, we have about a dozen of such sites scattered all over America. We have the Grand Canyon National Park, Yellow Stone National Park, the Statue of Liberty, the beautiful Hawaii has the . . .”

  “We don’t know those places,” interrupted the first, not wanting him to ramble on.

  “Then you have to visit them before you leave America. Tour my favorite Everglades in the Sunshine State of Florida.”

  “Yes, we will,” they answered.

  “And of course I forgot to mention that China has quite some of them. Like The Great Wall of China, The Imperial Tombs of the Ming and Qing Dynasties, and I think there is one on the Yangtze River and others all over the country. Most of them are tombs and temples. The Chinese really love and worship those. ”

  The ladies didn’t want to comment on that. They just kept smiling.

  “I am surprised you don’t know. China is your neighboring country and it is much like North Korea—repressive and opaque, kidnapping and spying.”

  “Pardon our ignorance, Prof.,” said the first lady, still smiling.

  “I like the way you call me Prof. That’s how my students call me. Anyway, you know we academics are bookworms. I can describe life in rural North Korea. I can name one thousand villages in your country.”

  “True, Prof?” asked the first.

  “Yes, I should have said ten thousand. That is why my students call me a Walking Bible. I can recite the whole Bible from Genesis to Revelation as we are sitting here if you have the patience of a vulture.”

  This man can hyperbolize, the ladies thought.

  “That’s amazing, but we aren’t vultures, Prof.,” replied the first lady laughing.

  “Sorry, it is literary language. We talk a lot of such things at Harvard, like our Harvardspeak.”

  “And what is that?” asked the second.

  “You will never learn it”

  “You can teach us, Prof.,” the two ladies said, drinking.

  Cramwell laughed. He was having fun. These two attractive ladies from reclusive North Korea were entertaining.

  “All right. Let me give you one. What one thing would you like to know the name in Harvardspeak?”

  “You once mentioned your love for the Bible.”

  “I love many things; beautiful women like you for example,” he said, pouring himself more drink.

  “Yes, but the Bible. What do you call it in Harvardspeak?”

  Professor Cramwell gently took a sip and replied, “Inquisition Nemesis.”

  The two women looked at each other and laughed.

  “Do you like that?” asked Cramwell.

  They replied, “Yes, Prof!”

  Mr. Xin Cheung felt proud watching and listening to his female operatives discussing with the friend of the target. He and four other agents—two of them in American police uniform—had been sitting in the vehicle with Iranian diplomatic plate number outside the restaurant since their arrival. All the secret agents in this manhunt were wearing micro cameras, which were filming and transmitting information to a live video in the vehicle.

  Cheung and the monitoring agents had not seen anything of importance before now. The dancing male and female agents in the hall and several others who were hanging about outside had only been transmitting images and voices of the happy dancing and drinking Washingtonians. The operatives had been erratically changing positions, but their prey was yet to arrive.

  All of them had been patient, which was one attribute of a good spy. They were to keep waiting until their target showed up. He would be caught in the camera and that would be the time to strike—the time when the two police officers, the only uniformed officers in the team, would swing into action. Yes, only two police officers were enough for the operation, more than that number would attract attention.

  Cheung typed a message and sent it to Beijing: “We are making progress.”

  Indeed they were. He had told all his men and women that this mission should not fail. They had put everything in it; rewards by the president were on the way.

  He was glued to the screen watching his ladies drinking and talking with animation. The two women had really shown professionalism by adapting and blending to the situation—a very testing terrain for spies. He hoped the women would carry on to the end.

  He had chosen only attractive women for the job. Which man in a restaurant with wine in his head and entertainers on the floor would not be attracted to them?

  Besides, the women were multi linguists and travelers. So he was not so surprised that they h
eld on with the all-knowing professor.

  Cheung only became afraid when the professor started talking about spying—and China. Then one of the ladies said they were on a safari. He had not heard that word before, but he liked the transition of the talk.

  The discussion continued and they kept listening and watching.

  “I apologize for not asking you of your names. I am Cramwell, Professor Cramwell.”

  “Oh, we like your name. We have typical Korean names. I am Huizhong and she is Qiaohui,” answered one of the ladies.

  “Sounds Chinese. Those names are tongue twisters, but I won’t forget them till I die. Trust me,” said Cramwell.

  “Korea used to be part of China, Prof. We know you won’t forget them as a Walking Bible.”

  “Yes, you sure know your history. That doesn’t surprise me because North Korea has about 100% literacy rate—one of the highest in the world.”

  The women looked surprised. They didn’t know the literacy statistics of North Korea and didn’t want to look foolish. This professor must be hot.

  “Thank you Prof. for noticing that,” they merely said.

  “Yes, I think that is the only plus for your country. I am an American prof. I know my onions. I can tell you the social-economic indicators of your country by percentages. And yeah, I do know my Bible too and I can recite all sixty-six books in this little head plus the apocryphal works. Well, those are fine names: Huizhong and Qiaohui. I understand Korean names have meanings. What do they mean?”

  “Yes, Huizhong means wise and loyal while Qiaohui stands for skillful and wise.”

  “Oh that’s beautiful and lovely. Which man doesn’t like to have a skillful and wise woman? My friend is Professor Muse, a Nobel laureate, poet par excellence. He will soon be here unless he’s kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” the women chorused.

  “Those were his words—another of our jargon for certainty.”

  A tall slim man in a baseball cap was standing in front of them. Cramwell apparently did not notice when he walked in amidst the noise.

  The Chinese secret agents outside also took no note. They were watching out for a bald head, but this bald head disguised himself with a cap. The dimmed light inside and outside the restaurant did not help.

  “I was actually kidnapped by the White House but I have regained my freedom,” he said removing his cap.

  His bald head shone on the screen.

  “Ladies, here comes the much-awaited Professor Muse, the poet and Nobel laureate and prisoner of the White House!” said Cramwell to the ladies.

  They all laughed.

  “Meet our beautiful North Korean ladies: Huizhong and Qiaohui – wise and skillful,” he said to Muse.

  “It’s nice to meet you good ladies, and thanks for keeping him company,” Muse said, shaking their hands and sitting down. “Never knew North Korea has such beautiful faces.”

  He was pleased. Cramwell had chosen wisely. He sat down. He could see the ladies’ exposed legs in their miniskirts. And the loose front openings of their short blouses were clearly revealing their breasts and bellies.

  Sweet things will happen in bed tonight!

  “We are plain country women, sir,” they replied.

  “Why, Cramwell, have you only had one bottle of cognac?”

  “The women won’t drink; I wanted to order for more.”

  “Your friend has been entertaining us. We will drink now that you have come,” one said.

  “Oh, he is a great talker. Have you recited a Bible book for them yet?” asked Professor Muse.

  “I told them I am a walking Bible. They haven’t asked for one, but I told them the Harvardspeak for the Bible.”

  “You did?”

  “We asked for more but he could only give us one,” one of the ladies said.

  “Yes, it is a language for Harvard academics only.”

  “I told them so,” said Cramwell. “They would be lost with them.”

  “I brought one Hebrew prosody,” Muse said to Cramwell.

  “Nice. Was that what has been delaying you?”

  “We will talk later, Cramwell. Let’s give attention first to the ladies.”

  “Good. Remember where the oracular is?”

  “Yes, oracular is in omega.”

  “We are lost,” the ladies said.

  “I warned you,” Cramwell answered.

  “Can Professor Muse explain those to us?”

  “Well, let me do you the favor for keeping my friend company. Hebrew prosody means Hebrew poem.”

  “Interesting language! What about the other?” asked one of the ladies.

  “No, one is enough. Now, let the Champagne Summit begin!”

  Cheung had heard enough. He hadn’t flown from China to America for champagne summits. The golden opportunity had come. It was now time to act. The professor would explain the rest in Beijing.

  The two uniformed and armed police officers now swung into action. Both of them left Cheung in the vehicle outside followed by one of the other two, who was an engineer, and went inside the restaurant.

  At the gatehouse, they were warmly saluted by two unarmed security guards. They walked past the dancers in the hall, up to the bar and restaurant above, and headed toward an office at the end of a long walkway from the hall.

  “See your country’s police officers,” said one of the female Chinese agents to Professors Muse and Cramwell. “Looks like they are after some criminals.”

  “Not quite,” replied Professor Muse “They might be escorting some diplomat or government official. There seem to be many of them here. I even saw your country’s diplomatic vehicle parked outside on my way in.”

  “Is that so? But I’m sure bad folks are about,” she replied.

  The police officers entered the control room of the Closed-Circuit Television, handcuffed the two workers on duty at gunpoint, while the engineer quickly disconnected the CCTV.

  That done, the police officers chained the workers and marched them through the bar down to the hall.

  “Did you see what I told you?” the Chinese lady was pointing out to Cramwell and Muse. “The police have arrested two criminals. There could be more of them hanging about. This place isn’t safe. Let’s immediately follow them and find out what’s going on. First was New York, Washington could be next,” she concluded, and both ladies stood up, ready to go.

  With the 9/11 hint, Muse and Cramwell immediately finished their last glass of drink and followed. The other Chinese operatives in the hall on seeing the ladies leading two men away terminated their activities and ran after them on their way outside.

  “Get inside your gatehouse or die!” the police officers were telling the shocked two security guards, with guns aimed at their heads. They quickly obeyed. The chained workers were pushed inside to join the security guards.

  At that time, the ladies and the two professors following them were standing before the gatehouse.

  “Professor Cramwell, join them before I blow up your brains,” one of the police officers said, pointing a gun at him.

  “Cramwell, kidnapped?” Muse said aloud.

  “No, he isn’t kidnapped, but you, Professor Muse. Follow us now!” the other police officer commanded.

  The horrified Cramwell had already gone in. The police officer giving the command locked them all up and put the key in his pant pocket.

  The police officers and the other operatives now took Muse away as the speechless onlookers outside the restaurant looked on with trepidation.

  Everything was going on smoothly. The two police officers led Professor Muse to the Iranian diplomatic van, where Cheung and the other man, a medical doctor, were waiting.

  They searched him, found the paper on which he had written the Methuselah poem upside down, and handed it over to Cheung.

  The doctor quickly gave the professor an injection. Then they bundled him into a large diplomatic crate, 1.5 meters long, 50 centimeters wide, and 50 centimeters high. The doctor entered
the crate with the professor and it was shut.

  Within moments, the entire agents boarded the Iranian, North Korean, and Cuban diplomatic vehicles accordingly, and sped away.

  Cheung was now working frenetically. There were a few quick things that he needed to do fast as they raced on. He had to update Beijing. A longer message was typed and sent: “Target kidnapped. Asleep with the doctor in the box. On the way to the airport.”

  Then he spread open the paper containing the poem, gave a devilish smile, typed, and sent it:

  Yet, the tree and the garden remain, as God decreed at the beginnin’.

  The Flood came and swept the tree of life away, even Eden.

  Next, he typed and sent the Harvardspeak that he learned:

  Inquisition Nemesis—The Bible.

  Hebrew prosody—Hebrew poem.

  Further, he typed and sent the Harvardspeak that he didn’t know:

  Oracular is in omega.

  Mother Muse 1:2.

  There was one more final thing to be done. He had to make two important telephone calls.

  “Hello, we have moved. Are you and all the drivers ready and waiting?”

  “Yes, sir!” was the reply.

  He had just called the chief driver in charge of other drivers in four Chinese diplomatic vehicles stationed and waiting for them between the District of Columbia and the state of Maryland.

  He was now making the second call.

  “Hi captain. I hope you and the crew members are ready. We are coming.”

  “The aircraft and crew members are ready to take off on your arrival, sir.”

  “Good!”

  Cheung had just spoken with the Chinese flight captain in charge of the special airplane for this assignment.

  He felt happy. Things were going on as planned. After all, his name meant Good luck. He lay back in his seat and watched the Potomac River receding under the Washington lights.