by Howard Upton
“I’m not lying, Mr. Dugan. Everything else you ask is unknown. I only know and understand what is revealed to me,” Rafael responded.
“You’ve told me several times that the cartouche has revealed many things to you.” He rose and looked at Rafael and his empty coffee cup. “Would you like some more coffee?” Dugan asked with considerable patience.
“Si, Mr. Dugan. That java tastes very good and sits well in my belly,” he replied.
Dugan walked to the back of the plane and refilled Rafael’s coffee cup. With great care not to spill the near boiling liquid, he made the few strides back to Rafael’s seat and handed him the cup. Rafael grabbed it and held it to his nose as if he had never smelled the stuff in his life.
“How do you know all this to be true, Rafael? How does the cartouche reveal things to you?” he asked.
At once Rafael’s eyes dropped to Dugan’s pocket. His eyes remained there for several seconds, his face as stoic as any Dugan had ever seen. For a moment he seemed to fade from existence, like he wasn’t of this time or place, but of another many eons prior.
“It speaks to me, Mr. Dugan,” he replied at long last. “It shows me things that it will not show anyone else. The cartouche shows me people and mountains and magic from a time long past. It’s as though I am standing there, an unseen spectator and the images are portrayed to me. I can’t explain how it shows me these things, but I find that hours will pass as it details everything that it has seen in the distant past,” Rafael said. “Everything the elder, the creator of the cartouche experienced, I am allowed to see.”
Dugan said nothing. He dropped his eyes and nodded his head, understanding, or at least wanting to understand, what Rafael explained to him. What he was trying to articulate, he thought, was that the cartouche was showing him images and emotions connected to the events leading up to the spell being cast over two-thousand years ago. It was like a children’s book, complete with pictures, telling a story in such a way that his simple mind would grasp the tale.
In that moment he decided that the Mexican would stay alive and help him gain control of the Terracotta Warriors. Little doubt crossed his mind that Rafael was critical to his plan. In fact, everything he said reinforced what he now believed to be true – Rafael was just as much a part of the Warrior’s Key as the cartouche itself.
He also realized the wounds he had inflicted on the man would bring about unwanted attention once they landed in China. He walked to the small galley sink, found a paper towel, and wet it. Dugan also pulled ice from the small freezer and placed several cubes in two separate plastic bags.
He stood towering over Rafael holding the wet paper towel. Dugan dropped the ice packs into the empty seat next to him before turning his attention back to his captive. He handed the wet cloth to the man and directed him to clean the blood from his face.
Gingerly, Rafael moved the wet cloth over his lips, nose, and cheeks. The white towel quickly turned red as it washed over his features. He grunted as he washed as the nasally escape of air through his broken nose made a funny whistling sound.
Dugan took a half-step to Rafael and placed his good hand on one side of the man’s broken nose and the edge of his own broken hand to the other side of his nose. With one quick motion he snapped it into place.
Rafael howled. “Pincha cabron!” His own hands flew instinctively to his face seeking to massage the area from which the new-found pain was radiating. Tears began to cascade over his bruised cheek.
Dugan turned and reached for one of the ice bags, shoving it toward the injured man. “Put this on your fucking nose and stop crying. You’re a grown man, so shut up. Besides, I couldn’t have you walking around with that fucked up beak in the middle of China, now could I?”
As Rafael glared at him, he grabbed his own ice bag and placed it on his damaged hand. He allowed himself a small smile at both the information he’d gathered from Rafael and the additional pain he had inflicted on the insolent bastard. As messed up as the trip to Asia had been, things were looking slightly better after the last few moments.
Manila, Philippines
Ninoy Aquino International Airport
July 24, 2013 1:09 P.M.
Evers and Buddy sat down in their seats and fastened their seatbelts. They had checked one bag each. The 3-D pistols had gotten through security without issue. The China Eastern Boeing 757 was full and the cabin air hot. As much as they hated it, they would have to change planes in Shanghai, which meant more time wasted en route.
“I can’t believe this bullshit. Fucking Dugan is going to be long gone before we ever get to Xi’an,” Evers whispered to Buddy.
With some conviction Buddy replied, “Hey, hey. Let’s remember we’re heading to China to spread the good Word. Keep it PG, will ya’?”
Evers looked at his partner in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? We’re in a race against time and you’re telling me to watch my language and acting like we’ve got all the time in the world. I cannot fucking believe this,” he said between clenched teeth.
Buddy eyes darted around to make sure the two men weren’t drawing any undue attention and whispered, “Buck, relax. I happen to know that Dugan is making his way here in a small Learjet. I also know he has to do everything in his power to avoid landing in U.S. airspace. Do you know what that means? That means he’ll have his pilot skip all over the place, and travel several thousand nautical miles out of his way to avoid being noticed. It also means he’ll have to stop many times to refuel. I suspect our arrival time won’t be that far off from one another. That’s what God told me. You should pray more often,” he quipped as he settled into his seat.
The co-pilot came over the intercom and announced the flight had been cleared for take-off. He instructed the flight attendants to take their seat and fasten their seatbelts. With that announcement the massive plane’s thrusters pressed forward and the engines roared to life. In a few seconds the plane was airborne and banking to the northwest.
Evers looked out his window as Metro Manila disappeared under a ten thousand foot cloud deck. Droplets of rain hit his window as the plane climbed to its flying altitude. Clouds were gray and black and the plane made some easy banks to the left then right to avoid large thunderheads. The aircraft’s wings bounced and the plane itself jostled as it passed over some moderate turbulence. A few exasperated gasps could be heard from travelers not accustomed to bumps in the air. Buddy put both hands together and feigned silent prayer.
Bill rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I think you’re taking this missionary thing a little too seriously.”
“A little help from the Big Man upstairs can’t hurt, Buck. I’ve already told you to calm down. Grab a drink when the stewardess comes by with the drink cart. It’s better to get all the rest you can while you can get it,” Buddy replied.
“Flight attendants, Buddy. They’re called flight attendants,” Evers corrected. Buddy rolled his eyes at Evers and replied, “Fuck being politically correct. They’re stewardesses, and damned good looking ones too.”
Evers shook his head, sighed and continued, “There’s something else about this mission that’s bothering me, Buddy. I don’t understand how the hell we’re supposed to march out of communist China with a damned army of stone soldiers. Have you considered that yet or is this whole thing just a fly by the seat of your pants assignment,” asked Evers.
“Always pragmatic, Buck, always. I love that about you,” he said with a smile. “Once we have control of the army, we march to a waiting set of rail cars operated by a few guys who have a vested interest in moving our soldiers north into Mongolia. From there they’ll be airlifted and taken to an undisclosed area in the States.”
“Undisclosed area, huh? Pre-hired train? Airlift from Mongolia. Sounds like you’ve thought of everything. I don’t reckon you’ve considered the possibility that the whole damned Chinese army will be four feet up our asses as soon as one of their national treasures starts marching around the streets of Xi’an?” Evers po
ndered.
“Yeah, that’s a distinct possibility, Buck. I can’t imagine they won’t be alerted, which is why we’ll be forced to utilize diversion tactics ahead of the load. We have a team of anti-commie patriots who are willing to create an internal incident by protesting in Beijing. That should keep a large portion of the military occupied for quite some time. All we need is a couple of hours of distraction and we’ll disappear like ghosts,” Buddy replied.
Evers exhaled loudly before repeating a sentiment he offered previously, “All that is assuming this whole cartouche thing is for real. Sometimes I can’t believe I bought into all this nonsense, Buddy. Chinese men and women finding their way to America and Mexico over two thousand years ago, magic jewelry, people turned to stone…somehow someone is able to bring stone men back to life. Doesn’t that all sound crazy to you?”
“Listen, Buck, there have been a lot of smart people evaluate this thing. Those same individuals have invested a lot of time, money and resources into figuring out the veracity of Dugan’s claims. Do you find it so hard to believe in magic even after you’ve seen it first hand? There are thousands of things in this world modern science can’t explain that we simply accept, things such as the pyramids being built by human slaves, even though those stones weighed two-and-a-half tons apiece, or things like massive amounts of limestone being carried inland in the Yucatan to build their pyramids and massive buildings.
Maybe you accept monolithic stones put in place in the middle of England as ordinary or explainable, or perhaps you have no issue with reports of seven plagues being handed down by an angry god on the people of Egypt? Perhaps you’ve heard about an Indian feller sitting under a Bodhi Tree and suddenly becoming enlightened? You see, son, there’s been magic at play for an eternity. Just because you may not believe in it right now doesn’t make it any less real,” Buddy finished.
Two flight attendants pushed the food and drink cart through the aisle. Once they reached the two Americans, Evers asked for a beer while Buddy asked for two bourbons and a cup of ice. Both of them sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments, savoring them.
“All I’m saying is that this whole mission seems kind of hodge-podge and thrown together, rather than being planned out. We’re risking our lives over something we have no idea even exists. In a short time we’ll be in Red China, Buddy, and the last time I checked the Chinese weren’t our biggest fans. Don’t you think we’ll draw a lot of unwanted attention?” Evers asked.
“Nobody twisted your arm to be here, Buck. It’s a little late in the ballgame to be worrying about what the Chinese government thinks of us. Personally, after we read a few passages of scripture, I suspect they’ll completely ignore us. But, back on the subject of magic and believability, you are a practitioner of the Japanese martial arts, right?” Buddy asked.
Evers nodded his head and wondered where Buddy was taking the conversation. There were a lot of things people could criticize the man for, but a lack of intelligence or reasoning skills weren’t on the list. Despite his thick southern drawl, and all the stereotypes that came with it, mentally he was a man to be reckoned with. He had the uncanny ability to draw parallels to things most wouldn’t consider, and always had the knack of predicting events before they happened, typically because he deduced his way through them. His ability to rationalize through scenarios was incredible and unmatched in Evers’ opinion.
“I’m certain that you’ve studied meridians, pressure points and chi or ki, as the Japanese call it. Explain to me what ‘ki’ is, Buck,” Buddy requested.
Bill thought about the question and his response before opening his mouth. He thought about his teachers explaining to him how to harness the body’s energy and use it to strike or thrown an opponent, or how proper breathing correctly channeled ki. The mystical energy was stored in the body’s tanden, or spiritual center, again, according to the Japanese. With considerable practice the Japanese claimed that ki could be gathered and used during battle. Evers believed this to be true, having utilized ki during his own military and paramilitary career.
He did what he could to explain ki to Buddy. “You remember The Incredible Hulk? Bruce Banner was a scientist who couldn’t save his family after an auto accident. He read so many accounts of people who had mysteriously summoned great strength to right overturned cars, or pick up huge trees and throw them off of loved ones who had been trapped beneath. So he injected himself with gamma rays in order to capture that amazing strength. You know the rest of the story – get pissed, turn green, stomp the bad guy. Well, ki is like that, minus the gamma rays and turning green. It’s that energy Dr. Banner was looking for, Buddy. That’s the best way for me to describe ki.”
“Ain’t that something, Buck? A mysterious energy contained within the human body that can be harnessed and used at a given time. More amazing to me is that you believe in it, say you’ve used it, and you don’t question its existence. Now, to me, that sounds just like magic,” he smirked.
Evers started to rebuke him, but shut up fast enough that Buddy could hear his teeth clatter as his mouth slammed closed. He took another breath then opened his mouth, and just as quickly shut it again. Finally he said, “Yeah, well that’s different.”
His friend cocked his head, raised one eyebrow and looked at him with some humor. “Explain to me what’s different between our little jewel we’re chasing and your ki, Buck. Everything you described to me matches what most consider magic. It’s unexplainable, there’s no scientific data to support its existence, and most would call ‘bullshit’ if you tried to tell them exactly what you told me.”
Buddy finished his bourbon then eased his chair back to the fullest extent of its six inches worth of reclining. He closed his eyes, satisfied that he’d properly educated his protégé, and confident he would have more questions when he awoke. Shortly after his eyes shut, he was snoring.
Evers continued to sip his beer, finding the bottom a few minutes later. He thought about Buddy’s explanation, dismissed it for a few seconds, but couldn’t offer any reason why he was wrong. Everything he said made perfect sense, yet here he sat wondering how in the hell it was possible that some ancient spell could be cast encasing humans in stone, then partially reversed so an army of stone could walk the Earth. The whole concept was ridiculous and preposterous, but he did know that ki existed, even if he couldn’t articulate exactly what it was.
Is it possible that the magic used in the spell was nothing more than one individual’s internal energy captured in that cartouche, and not sourced from what most would call the spiritual realm? If that’s the case, then any person, with the proper training, could plausibly cast a similar spell.
This possibility excited Evers. In fact, should he somehow find a way to live through this most bizarre of adventures, he promised himself he would seek out his old sensei and discuss this with him. He considered how his karate and judo would be elevated if he could figure out this aspect of ki and how he could control an opponent.
He had often heard of people who suffered from some terminal illness being healed through the power of prayer. Evers wondered what Buddy’s argument would be with a Christian minister who didn’t believe in the magic of the cartouche. Was it really a stretch to believe that God heals those who ask for it or through those who pray for healing, but wouldn’t permit the power of contemplation and will to be focused in a jewel? The more Evers put himself in a position to think like Buddy, the more he was convinced there could be something to the magical jewel.
He forced the thought from his mind for the time being; he would have time to dwell it once the mission was completed, if it could be completed. For now he was content flagging the flight attendant and asking for another beer, which he nursed for a while. Later, he drifted off to sleep and dreamed of karate and judo and the time he spent with his former teachers of each art. In the recesses of his dreams he envisioned himself holding the cartouche and a foreign but powerful energy surging through his body.
Hong Kon
g
Hong Kong International Airport
July 24, 2013 6:43 P.M.
While they refueled in Hong Kong, Dugan asked Rafael if he would like to walk inside the terminal to stretch and get some food before their next and final leg of the journey. In reality, Dugan had paid off one of his Chinese airport contacts to inspect the aircraft prior to their departure to Xi’an, which was standard protocol before a private jet could enter Chinese airspace and land at one of their airports. He certainly did not want the agent to see Rafael or his bonds, so it was better that they not be on board while the inspection took place.
Rafael had grown more amicable since Dugan had both released him and given him coffee. Although he was peaceful, Dugan realized he could have another mental meltdown at any time, so taking him inside the terminal was a risk, but a calculated one, especially after he had “repaired” his nose for him. He hoped the new sights and sounds would keep his mind occupied until the plane inspection was complete.
Dugan looked his captive over and saw that his appearance was more than unkempt. His pants were wrinkled and blood from his nose and mouth had poured down the front of his shirt. He rifled through his suitcase for a clean tee-shirt and handed it to Rafael, nodding his head to the man to take the garment and put it on. Dugan then handed him a clean sports coat to put on over the tee-shirt. Finally, he handed Rafael his comb and told him to walk inside the small restroom and comb his hair.
While Rafael was inside the restroom, Dugan changed his own shirt. Blood from Rafael’s wounds had splattered on him after their altercation. He raked his fingers through his hair and brushed a few of the wrinkles from his pants. Looking like a travel-weary tourist, he knew no one would pay attention to him as he walked through the airport.
