by Howard Upton
A smirk crossed Evers’ face. Buddy always seemed to have a scheme and was always wheeling and dealing in the darkest recesses of different countries’ underworlds. There was no doubt he had stumbled upon something that would help them, but Buddy loved to build suspense and wouldn’t tell Evers what he had procured until he asked.
“What ‘cha got? I hope you’re going to tell me you’ve purchased a tank and a couple of Howitzers that are going to be dropped off at the exact time we arrive in Xi’an,” Evers responded.
“Nope, but I have the next best thing,” Buddy replied as he reached to the floor and picked up a small navy blue duffel bag. “In this bag I have two pistols, equalizers, if you will. It’s better than nothing, Buck, and there is no way in hell we are going to get guns once we’re inside the wire with the Chi-coms.”
“That’s perfect, Buddy, but how do you propose two evangelicals, hell-bent on bringing the heathen Chinese to the altar, are going to smuggle those firearms across the border? They’ll bury us under a prison then blow it up just to prove a point if we’re caught, and you know it,” Evers reasoned.
“I thought you would never ask,” Buddy smugly replied. “What we have here is the latest in print technology, my friend-plastic guns. Undetectable unless accidentally found. We’re going to stuff these bad boys in our bags and walk right across the border, right through their metal detectors and help spread God’s Word.
“What the hell are you talking about, Buddy? Print technology? Plastic guns? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I guess I’m going to need you to translate for me,” said Evers.
“Well, Buck, there are new printers that mold plastic. They’re called 3-D printers and the technology is incredible. You can make anything your little heart can imagine in three dimensional form on these printers. The scary part is the parts work! We can build entire pistols and rifles from plastic and they’ll fire real bullets. And that’s the crux...we’ll have to get bullets once we get inside the wire, but those are easier to come by than the actual firearm,” he explained.
Evers sat in his seat perplexed and confused. He wondered when this shift in technology had happened. Living in such a secluded area was great, but apparently the world was passing him by. This fact didn’t bother him that much, but he was embarrassed that an old-timer like Buddy knew about the technology and he didn’t.
Evers turned his head and looked out the window at a car pulling into the hotel driveway. He watched the security guards circle the car with a large round mirror on a telescopic wand and search beneath the vehicle for explosives. The driver opened his trunk so the armed guards could inspect it as well. When he and Buddy had showed up at the hotel a few hours earlier, they had gone through a similar shakedown. Armed guards stood at many public entrances, even at highway tollbooths.
As he stared out at the Glorietta Four Mall Buddy had told him about several hours earlier, he could see the city’s smog sit on it like a mother hen protecting its eggs. The realities of a third world country were always difficult for him to fathom, even though he had just left Mexico and had seen similar poverty. Their hotel and the rest of the country were paradoxical shifts between the haves and have not’s. In the last 10 minutes, Evers had seen many homeless and destitute, all from the safety of the hotel restaurant’s window. He shifted his attention back to Buddy who continued to explain about their plastic weaponry.
“This technology is available to the general public, Buck. My contact recommended it when I told him we were facing a treacherous voyage into China. The damned things fire a forty caliber bullet too. Do you know how much the Filipinos don’t like the Chinese? Well, they can’t stand them and if we’re going to do anything to piss them off, these people will support us. You got it?” he asked.
“Yeah, plastic guns, real bullets, Chinese, death, dismemberment, magic, statues. Understood. I tell you, Buddy, this whole thing is starting to catch up with me. This shit is just getting weird. I mean, I never really questioned any of it at the onset, but I’ve had plenty of time to think about it on the way over here. I know you think it’s real, but I still have my doubts,” Evers replied.
“Whatever the truth is, Buck, Dugan feels that he needs to kill for it. Let’s go to the mall and get our clothes and we can finish this conversation later,” Buddy said.
Buddy put his bag in his room for safekeeping, then met Evers in the hotel lobby a few minutes later. They crossed a very busy East Street to the Glorietta Mall where they were searched by guards before entering. Once inside they found a couple of department stores where they could purchase some new clothes, in addition to new suitcases.
Evers asked Buddy, “Why all the armed guards around here? Bomb searches at the hotel. These folks seem to be pretty diligent about their security.”
“Fucking extremist camel jockeys, Young Buck. There are millions of them here. Mostly they hang out on the southern islands, but they have a pretty significant presence in the capital too. They like to blow shit up, kill people...the usual,” he finished.
Evers nodded his understanding and carried on with his shopping, buying enough in the way of clothes to last him a week, and toiletries to last a couple of months. He was amazed with the warmth and politeness of the gentle Asian islanders, even in a city as vast as Manila. Everywhere he went people smiled and greeted him with a “hello, sir.” It was difficult for him to comprehend why anyone would want to blow up such a loving bunch of people, but he knew evil had no bounds and was indiscriminate.
After they finished making their purchases and Buddy stopped long enough to exchange United States dollars for Chinese Yuan at a currency exchange booth, they walked outside the mall and stared at the palm trees that lined the sidewalks. The temperature was balmy and the air pollution heavy. He watched as people hustled to the Ayala bus terminal. As with most major cities, mass transit was the easiest, most cost effective method of moving around the area.
“It’s too much city for me, but I like the people, Buddy. I wouldn’t mind having a place here out in the country far removed from the hustle and bustle,” Evers mused.
Buddy chuckled and responded, “Yeah, until a typhoon came along and blew you and your house all to hell. Happens all the time over here. Hellacious storms too. Let’s go get our shit and get back to the airport. It’s almost time to leave, and we’ve had a little change in plans. Since we have our visas, we’re going directly to Shanghai then on to Xi’an. This itinerary will get us there faster than stopping in Hong Kong first.”
Taipei, Taiwan
Taipei Shongshan Airport
July 24th, 2013 12:09 P.M.
Dan Dugan grew ever more anxious. His plans, which he had spent countless days and years setting in motion, were unraveling. The frustration of having to stop at several island airports on his way to China was growing exponentially, and was an oversight for which he could not forgive himself. Few times in his life had he flown on a jet that wasn’t of a commercial or military variety.
The times that he had found himself on a smaller plane, had seen him delivered and dropped at his location within a couple of hours. He had become so upset with himself at not accounting for the smaller fuel tank on his chartered flight that he wanted to kill someone. His eyes looked to Rafael; he forcibly tore them away from his captive to keep from acting upon the impulse.
They had stopped in Kokor, Palau for fuel. Palau, an island archipelago directly associated with Micronesia, had been settled several thousand years prior by boat faring Filipinos, most likely by accident. As with many islands that had been settled in the western Pacific, fishermen had been blown off course and found themselves occupying a new land.
Typical of Southeast Asia, no one got in a hurry. Dugan didn’t care that island life worldwide seemingly encouraged less urgency, or that Filipinos in general took time to enjoy life. None of that mattered to him when his plane landed in Kokor. All he wanted was for someone to put fuel in their plane and get airborne with the least amount of time wasted. U
nfortunately for him this wasn’t the case.
Kokor had had a rash of international travelers land at their small airport just as his jet landed. Three total planes landing within a timespan of one hour was significant for the small airport, which forced baggage handlers to also be runway attendants, as well as airport security. As strange as it might sound to individuals who travel through metropolitan airports, small budgets forced companies to operate with small workforces. And stranger yet, was the team concept of getting things done. Such was the case in Kokor.
These fucking slopes. They’re always so happy for no goddam reason at all and never get in a hurry to do anything.
Dugan was ready to step off the plane and wring someone’s neck. Just as he began to rise, the fuel truck pulled up and began filling the tank. A sense of relief overcame him as he watched the workers pump gas into the plane’s fuel reservoir.
A short time later the plane was in the air, but then forced to land again in Taipei. The amount of time spent on the aircraft was exhausting, and keeping an eye on Rafael had proven tiresome. Keeping his pistol drawn whenever he released him so he could eat or relieve himself had gotten old quickly. Conversation had been sparse until they had begun their decent into Shongshan airport, the smaller of the two airports in metro-Taipei and least likely to create a stir if a smaller jet landed there.
“You think you can control that army, Seňor but you are wrong. The magic that controls them did not originate from a man like you,” Rafael said as a sickly laugh slid over his bloody lips. The gap from his missing tooth caused a serpentine hiss when he spoke. He wheezed and coughed, his crooked nasal passages making it difficult to breathe, then looked away.
“What are you talking about you wetback son of a bitch? If you know something you better tell me now, or you’ll regret it very soon. Do you hear me?” he screamed!
Rafael continued to ignore Dugan as the plane touched down, its rear tires skidding loudly, the front tires touching down seconds later.
The pilots, knowing their passenger was becoming ever more impatient and prone to violence, taxied to their gate as the refueling truck sped to its side. A host of men wearing gloves ran around the plane and truck connecting the fuel hose to the tank inlet before flipping switches allowing the fuel to flow.
Dugan stood and glowered at Rafael. He reached over and smacked the insolent Mexican on the head demanding his attention. Not even a whimper could be heard from Rafael, which infuriated Dugan further. He punched him in the ribs and pummeled his arms and legs, but no matter the punishment he doled out, Rafael remained motionless and silent.
Finally, out of breath and sweating, Dugan fell into his chair wondering what Rafael had meant about not being able to control the Terracotta Army. His mind raced and he ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit that he had picked up many years earlier. Everything that had seemed so concrete just a couple of days prior now didn’t appear to be so clear-cut anymore.
Being confined to the small aircraft was starting to drive him crazy. There was another stop in Hong Kong before the final leg to Xi’an, which meant at least another eight to ten hours before their arrival into the Forbidden Zone, as it was known in China.
The sky was overcast and the threat of storms loomed in the west. This potentiality made Dugan even more uneasy. He stormed up to the cabin and demanded to know how much longer it would take for the plane to become airborne. His pilot, ever weary, told him at least another thirty minutes.
Dugan was on the verge of explosion. He knew his blood pressure was tipping the scale, and he worried he would have a heart-attack or stroke before they arrived in Xi’an if he didn’t bring himself under control. He paced back and forth in the aisle, his neck crooked to one side to avoid hitting his head on the plane’s low ceiling. Fatigue and anxiety had begun to take a toll on his aging body. Only his drive to see this mission through kept him awake. Coffee was what he needed so he walked to the back of the plane and pulled out the coffee maker, a packet of coffee, and a filter. As it heated up and dripped into the stainless pot the fresh aroma reinvigorated him.
With intensity etched into his face he stepped over to the window and watched as the men worked to finish fueling up the aircraft. The door at the front of the plane opened. Quickly, his hand felt the pistol hanging in the small of his back as he watched the pilot finish opening it. Eyes narrowed, he stepped forward but was relieved when a small Taiwanese man asked if he could restock their food supply in the galley.
Dugan told him to leave everything at the entrance because he didn’t want the man walking to the back and seeing Rafael bound and gagged. The worker looked a little confused then shrugged his shoulders and stacked a couple boxes containing ready-to-eat meals, bottled water, and more coffee behind the cockpit door. The pilot paid the man and tucked the receipt into his wallet, which would find its way to Dugan at the end of the journey.
He relaxed and turned his attention back to his coffee. After dumping a couple packs of sugar and one creamer into his cup, he sipped gingerly. The hot elixir wound its way through his belly into his intestines, and for a moment, he felt some of his sanity return.
The smell of the freshly brewed coffee roused Rafael for the first time since his previous outburst. He stared at the cup in Dugan’s hand while Dugan stared back at him. Rafael looked like a man possessed. That thought almost made Dugan laugh, as he had grown to realize that Rafael truly was possessed, held captive by a spell an ancient and distant family member had cast two millennia ago.
Rafael made a muffled sound behind the duct tape across his mouth so Dugan reached over and yanked it off. He winced as the glue from the tape ripped several hairs from his unshaven face and swollen lips. After a few seconds the pain subsided and he spoke.
“I would really like to have a cup of that coffee, sir,” croaked Rafael. “I promise not to try anything if you would simply allow me to have some.”
“Fuck you. The last time you told me something similar to that you tried to attack me. Why should I believe you now?”
“The coffee smells good, sir. Having some would make me feel human again. That’s the only reason I ask. I have no agenda, no strength left to fight, and no energy to try to escape. I only want some coffee. It’s really that simple, sir,” Rafael finished.
Dugan raised his cup of coffee to his mouth where he took long, slurping sips. He raised his right eyebrow and nodded his head to Rafael in a silent sign of appreciation of the flavor of the java. Rafael imagined he did the same thing to a younger sibling who wanted whatever Dugan had when they were growing up.
Still, Dugan sat in his seat slurping and staring at Rafael. His background in interrogation served him well, when he wasn’t allowing his temper and emotions to drive his actions. He relented and retrieved a cup for Rafael, but didn’t give it to him. Dugan sat it in the cup holder as he sat back down. Leaning forward he smiled a warm smile at Rafael.
“I’d be happy to give you some coffee my friend, but you have to promise me not to do anything stupid like you did last time. Should you attempt that again, I’ll kill you and figure out another way to secure my army. Is that clear?” he asked.
Rafael nodded his head and licked his lips. The smell of the coffee had sparked something in him. In fact, this was the first time he had felt like himself in two weeks. There was something about the aroma that excited his olfactory senses. He remembered times spent sipping tequila, eating good food and asking for a coffee after dinner. Times before the cartouche had entered his life.
Dugan, with significant difficulty, released his bonds giving him an opportunity to stand and stretch. His broken hand made doing things like tying and untying things very challenging. Rafael let out a sigh of relief before uttering a “thank you” then sat back down. A small smile touched Dugan’s face when he heard the Mexican thank him. He knew he was getting inside his head and understood that Rafael was beginning to “like” him, much like other captives who learned to love their captors. It was c
alled the Stockholm Syndrome and he had utilized it several times in his illustrious career. Still, he knew the cartouche could take hold of him at any time and turn him into a rabid dog.
Rafael slurped his coffee loudly. Periodic “ahs” were vocalized and a look of pure pleasure would cross his face each time he swallowed his caffeinated beverage. Dugan allowed Rafael to enjoy his coffee in silence before easing back into his line of questioning.
“So, my friend, I think it is time we continue our previous discussion. I would like for you to offer some enlightenment regarding your remarks about me not being able to control the Terracotta Army.”
Rafael pulled the coffee from his mouth and eyed Dugan cautiously. Doubt and suspicion passed over his face, like a dark cloud passing in front of the sun, but he relented, realizing his captor had the upper hand. The truth be told, he had always had the upper hand. Rafael just refused to admit it, until now. He put his lips back on the cup and took another sip.
“Mister Dugan, the cartouche’s magic was put in place by a man of goodness. He comforted the sick and defended the poor. At no time did he desire personal fortune or fame; he merely wanted good things for his people. When he cast the spell, he did so in defense of his family and his village. Reversing the spell requires someone of his line, and controlling the army would require someone of a good heart. It’s really that simple,” Rafael stated emphatically.
Dugan stared at Rafael, his mind spinning. He is telling me I can’t control the army because I don’t have a good or pure heart. Who the fuck does? I have to figure out how to properly control it before our plane lands in Xi’an.
“How do you know these things, Rafael? How can you be so certain that what you’re telling me is accurate? What would happen if someone who wasn’t good tried to control the army? In fact, how do I know you aren’t lying to me right now?” he asked.
