Of Blood and Stone

by Howard Upton

  After they finished speaking, Dugan stood and gave Rafael a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He didn’t worry about tying him up again, as he was certain he had won the heart and mind of the man. Naturally, he would kill Rafael once he no longer needed him, as he originally planned, but at least for now he could rest easy knowing the Mexican wouldn’t try to run away or kill him first.

  Not wanting to press him any further, Dugan elected to continue the discussion once they were airborne. He walked outside in search of his pilot and co-pilot to see if they had an update from the islander who was supposed to be refueling the plane. They stood along the fence line some twenty-five yards from the plane. Both men had a cigarette in their mouths and stared out at the bay.

  The pilot turned to face Dugan after he had taken no more than five or six steps. He shook his head to let him know that he hadn’t heard from their fuel delivery man. Perturbed, Dugan walked back to the air conditioned plane. The thought of standing in that heat waiting on some moron to show up drunk and driving an incredibly flammable truckload of jet fuel was enough to send him over the edge.

  It’s probably best I don’t open my mouth again about this guy. He may just make my shit list! Dugan stepped back onto the cool airplane and took a seat a couple rows behind Rafael who had already fallen asleep. His hand drifted to his pocket where it caressed the cartouche. The customary thrum vibrated from his hand to his elbow. Reassured he was about to become an incredibly powerful and important man, he let his head recline on the chair, and, like his prisoner, fell asleep.

  Manila, Philippines

  Ninoy Aquino International Airport

  July 24, 2013 1:33 A.M.

  Evers and Buddy arrived in Manila without incident. They had had a relatively short layover in Mexico City and boarded the Airbus A380, the biggest plane that could safely land in Manila. The flight was filled with many Filipinos, Chinese and Japanese heading to various destinations. Evers overheard a few Europeans speaking in their native tongue behind him, presumably German.

  After their “heart-to-heart” discussion about his nightmares, Evers was concerned about the long flight over the Pacific and being detained should he have an outburst while dozing. Fortunately, Buddy never left his side. They had discussed little on the full flight, and neither wanted to be overheard talking about their reasons for traveling to the Philippines and beyond.

  The pilot taxied the plane to its gate, and after thirty minutes from the time they landed, they finally disembarked. Evers took a few moments to do a couple of back and neck stretches in the concourse. Buddy squatted down and stood back up in an attempt to get the blood flowing in his aging legs.

  Evers watched as Buddy pulled his cell phone from his pocket and thumbed through the address book. “We’re here. Intercon. Thirty minutes.” He clicked off and began heading for customs.

  He looked at Evers as he pulled his passport out and stuck five U.S. dollars inside. “The fewer lies we have to tell the better off we are.”

  Evers stuck a five in his own passport and closed it. “What does this buy us?”

  “Our stay here is only going to be a few hours, Buck. Neither of us wants to explain why we’re leaving the airport and returning again in a few hours with a final destination to Xi’an. That makes us memorable should someone begin to ask questions. The money makes this process much easier in the Philippines, trust me. Customs jobs here are premium positions because of the money that changes hands.”

  A customs agent motioned for Buddy to approach as Evers stood in line watching. Buddy handed the agent his passport and gave the man a quick wink. Evers watched as the man opened the passport then grinned at Buddy. His hand shot the money into his pocket then just as quickly stamp his passport. No questions, no comments...just a smile.

  “I’ll be damned,” Evers muttered under his breath.

  The same agent motioned him to step forward. He offered the man a tight smile as he handed him his passport. The same scenario played itself out as the man deftly put the bill in his pocket then just as ably stamped his passport.

  “Enjoy the Philippines, sir,” the agent said in thickly accented English.

  Evers smiled at the man again the walked next to Buddy. Both continued onto the baggage claim area, grabbed their luggage and walked to a door leading outside the airport.

  The two stepped outside into what could only be described as controlled pandemonium. It felt as though all twelve million residents of Metro Manila had converged at the exact moment they walked outside. Heat, humidity and air pollution hit Evers square in the chest. For a solitary moment he thought he would lose his ability to breath. The air and smog was suffocating, and the toxic fumes of cars, hotel shuttles and Jeepney’s, slowly filed through the arrival area.

  Buddy pulled out his cell and once again scrolled through his contact list. “I need two rooms, checking out tomorrow. Put them in my name, Joe Presley.”

  Evers watched him pause after giving them his travel name, apparently being spoken to by whoever was on the other end of the conversation. Buddy smiled and offered a little chuckle.

  “Yes, just like Elvis. No, I’m not related. Just hold the rooms for me. I don’t want to give my credit card information over the phone. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Thank you,” he said and clicked off again.

  “What was that about?” asked Evers.

  “I got us a room so we can get a little rest. We’re going to need it, so I suggest hitting the hay as soon as we get checked in. We’ll stay for a few hours at the Intercontinental Hotel in Makati, the downtown area of Manila and its financial district. It’s right next to the mall we talked about earlier. Let’s sleep, get up and walk over and get some new clothes then head back here. I’ve got a meet with my contact here. You know, my guy we talked about back in Old Mexico. He’ll handle our visa problems,” Buddy said without a hint of doubt.

  Buddy looked at home in Aquino Airport, and Evers suspected he’d been there several times before. Part of the warrior’s creed included not asking another about past travels unless there was something that could help a person with a new mission. None of that mattered now anyway. All that he wanted to do was lay down in a comfortable bed for a few hours and rest. He knew Buddy was telling him the truth about needing sleep before they ventured into China. What he didn’t have to say was how dangerous everything would be once they attempted to get into the country. Hopefully, his ‘guy’ was as good as he said, and their visas wouldn’t raise any questions.

  His old friend raised his hand as the Intercontinental Hotel shuttle pulled to the curb. The two hopped aboard and took a seat, each careful to keep his head down and avoid eye contact with anyone else on the shuttle. Old habits died nasty deaths.

  “You haven’t told me how we’re going to get into China, Buddy. There will be questions before we cross the border, and they don’t necessarily appreciate Americans, especially Americans who want to bring their Terracotta Warriors to life then march out of their country with them in tow,” he said in a whisper but loud enough for Buddy’s ears.

  Buddy smiled at him and made the sign of the cross. “Oh ye of little faith, you silly bastard. You and I are going to be Christian missionaries spreading the good Word to those Godless sons a bitches. Happens all the time over here. The Chinese tolerate our Christian folks preaching the Gospel, and we tolerate their cheap shit getting shipped over the pond and placed in our department stores. God Bless em he finished, sarcasm dripping from his mouth."

  Evers stared at Buddy, the disbelief in his eyes more than evident. He’d never been a religious man, but realized a border agent, especially a non-Christian Chinese one, would never question his Biblical knowledge. That simple truth didn’t make him feel any better about the cover story, though, primarily because he had spent his life avoiding God, and now he would be forced to assume the role of servant. Somehow, he quickly realized his doubt was nothing more than fear of the Big Man Upstairs. I guess that’s just one more thing I’ll have to
come to terms with when I get home. For now, I’ll have to deal with the hypocrisy.

  Buddy watched the wheels turn and ostensibly read what was running through his partner in crime’s mind. “Look, Young Buck, I don’t think God would want that lunatic Dugan standing charge over any army, much less a virtually indestructible one. Nor do I think he’ll stand in judgment of your disguise. Of course if He does, you and I are going to burn together for an eternity. That should put your mind at ease,” he guffawed as he slapped Evers on the back.

  Evers raised a brow and replied, “That’s a visual I can do without, Buddy. The thought of spending an eternity on fire and listening to you talk about all the women you’ve bedded makes my pickle pucker.”

  The two men spent a couple minutes laughing before Evers continued.

  “So what happens once we get inside China? We’ve still got to make our way to Xi’an and somehow find Dugan and the cartouche. What’s the plan?” asked Evers.

  “Hell, that’s easy,” Buddy said. “We kill the bad guys, take the cartouche and the army, save the world and get the girl. I thought you would have this ending figured out already, Buck.”

  “What girl?” Evers asked.

  Buddy leaned into him and replied, “I haven’t met her yet, but when I do I’m going to save her and live happily ever after.” He gave Evers a wink and a nod.

  Tarawa Island, Kiribati

  Bonriki International Airport

  July 23rd, 2013 10:52 P.M.

  It had taken Dugan several hours to calm down after the owner of the airport in Socorro finally showed up. The man could barely walk and certainly couldn’t speak coherently when he showed up. He wanted nothing more than to step off the plane and stick his pistol right between the man’s eyes and squeeze the trigger.

  Dugan managed to control his temper just enough to let the man live. Begrudgingly, he paid the drunkard and boarded the plane without so much as a nod of appreciation for allowing them to refuel at his airport. The pilot waited for his boss to get on the plane before turning to the man and shaking his hand, thanking him for the fuel and time spent at his airport. Burning bridges or friendships in remote places wasn’t wise for the pilot of a small jet.

  For several hours, the foursome flew at twenty-six thousand feet through smooth air. As their plane continued on its southwesterly course, Dugan thought the sun would never set. It did give him some time to stare out the window and admire the azure Pacific below. So calm was the ocean that it appeared to be a majestic piece of blue glass.

  Rafael had remained silent and calm during their flight, asking only if he could have something to drink and, on a couple of occasions, if he could step inside the restroom to relieve himself. Still, despite his calmness and initial feeling of winning his trust, Dugan sensed a man biding his time and planning to strike like a deadly viper awaiting its prey. He needed to have another discussion with him, but knew it would have to wait until he could be sure that he wasn’t going to try something stupid. Not wanting to press too hard or too fast, Dugan did not engage the man until after they landed at Bonriki International Airport.

  The small island nation of Kiribati was a former British holding until 1979 and sat close to the equator on the edge of the International Date Line. Its inhabitants had gained their freedom peacefully after petitioning the British parliament. Several cultures lived on the narrow island beaches but Micronesians were in the majority. Dugan hoped for better results than they had gotten during their refueling efforts in Socorro, despite the fact that they were flying to another small island whose inhabitants most likely lacked any sense of urgency.

  Lying just to the southeast of the Marshall Islands and due east of New Guinea and Australia, the country boasted a population of some one hundred and thirty thousand residents. Locals suffered from poverty on a scale most couldn’t understand, but as with most poor nations the people all seemed to be smiling and happy.

  Insofar as international airports were concerned, Bonriki’s one modest runway was barely long enough to support a plane much larger than the Learjet. Two old metal hangars sat to the side of the runway and three small single engine props were parked nearby.

  Since the small country used to be a British holding, English was the official language even though most people spoke Gilbertese, an ancient and glorious poly-Asian and oceanic language. The runway sat on the ocean’s edge surrounded by gorgeous beaches. Heat waves distorted the passengers’ vision as the lights from the tail section parted the darkness of the evening.

  Dugan squinted out his window willing some human activity to magically appear. Unfortunately, zero movement could be seen in the small airport terminal or on the street right behind it. He hung his head in desperation as the realization they would get no fuel until the following day hit him like a punch to the gut.

  The pilot and co-pilot opened their cockpit door and stepped out, anxiety overshadowing the bleak smiles on their faces. “I’m afraid we must stay here for the evening, sir,” the co-pilot said to Dugan.

  “I could get to China faster if I swam the Pacific!” He punched the seat in front of him.

  The Captain flinched at Dugan’s outburst. He turned and opened the door to the plane and let the steps fall to the tarmac. “There is a hotel a half mile down the road, sir. We are going to get a room there. I suggest we all do the same and meet back here at 8:00 a.m.

  Dugan took a deep breath then released it slowly and loudly. He looked over at Rafael who was staring straight ahead. To Dugan he looked like he was a million miles away, but soon realized he was physically there but mentally two thousand years in the past.

  In his pocket the cartouche thrummed, more so than any time it had been in his possession. Slowly, Rafael turned and faced him, his eyes drifting to Dugan’s pocket. Had anyone witnessed the bizarre scene, they would have thought someone was filming a scene for a horror movie. Rafael barred his teeth and reached for Dugan.

  He rose and shifted away from Rafael who had also gotten to his feet and silently stepped toward his captor. Suddenly, Dugan no longer felt like the predator, but the prey. The thrumming in his pocket grew stronger and Rafael seemed to become more energized. His heart beat loudly in his chest as he stepped back from the skeleton of a man.

  A million things ran through his mind at once. Things like creating distance between himself and Rafael, subduing him without killing him, not being killed himself, and understanding the strange connection between the man and the ancient relic.

  Rafael placed a hand on the seatbacks just in front of him and on either side of the aisle way. Dugan used the seatbacks to brace himself and as a point of leverage, as Rafael took another slow step toward him. He knew he could pull his pistol out again, but he didn’t want to kill the man. As the Mexican took another step, his weight shifting on his lead leg, Dugan ducked and lunged at it, pulling himself on the seats as he did so. As deftly as a twenty-year old, he took the hypnotized man to the floor and swiftly straddled him in the tight confines of the small aisle.

  Rafael attempted to push Dugan off him but the seats prevented either man from rolling over. Dugan drew a balled fist up and immediately slammed it into his opponent’s cheek, rendering him unconscious again. His hand began to swell a few seconds after the impact with Rafael’s face and he knew it was broken.

  “Fuck me,” he screamed! “Can this damnable trip get any worse?” he asked no one in particular.

  He found the bonds he had used to secure Rafael last time and tied his hands behind his back, although he struggled with his own broken hand. Next, he found the duct tape and taped his ankles, but had to leave him on the floor, the pain in his hand shooting into his forearm.

  Few things anger a man like pain. Pain can make a totally rationale person act irrationally. It can make a generally sane person go over the top and do something completely ridiculous by logical standards. Dugan stepped over Rafael’s prone body, turned, the pain in his hand and arm intensifying, and kicked him in the face. Blood shot f
rom his nose from the impact of Dugan’s foot. Rafael’s mouth flew open and a tooth fell on the carpeted floor.

  Sweating, Dugan sat down to calm himself and to catch his breath. He surveyed the damage he had inflicted on the man and wondered silently if he had killed him. Rafael’s fragile body appeared broken. No sooner had the thought passed through his mind when he saw him take a deep breath.

  “At least he’s breathing. Pity, we were getting along so well too. Hopefully, I can keep the stupid bastard alive long enough to free the soldiers. He has no choice,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

  Makati, Philippines

  Intercontinental Hotel Restaurant

  July 24, 2013 9:07 A.M.

  The two met in the Café Jeepney, named for the old World War II buses they had seen earlier at the airport. Although neither man got all the sleep he had wanted, some was better than none, and the hotel beds they slept on were fantastically comfortable. They sat down at their table and ordered breakfast and coffee from a cute little waitress named Maya. Buddy winked at her then blew her a kiss. She giggled as she walked back to the kitchen to get their coffee and freshly squeezed mango juice.

  “Now there’s a fine little filly, Buck. I bet she would take damned good care of you too,” he teased.

  Maya brought their coffee to them then took their breakfast order. Buddy asked for a fried egg on fried rice and a side order of mango. Evers decided he would have the same thing and their waitress turned and bounded toward the kitchen to drop off their ticket.

  Buddy briefed him on what had transpired earlier that morning. His Filipino contact had showed up around 7:00 a.m. with their forged China visas. He slid Evers his as he spoke. “Now, here’s the real shit of the deal, Buck. You and I are like Felix the fucking Cat. You hear me? We’ve got a new lease on life, so to speak,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.