by Fritz Galt
“He’s going again,” he heard Sullivan say.
White noise began to fill his head.
“The compound must have some recursive properties,” Cheno explained, before being completely drowned out.
Brad was consumed by the noise and lost awareness of his most recent surroundings.
“Hey, where are you guys?” Earl’s nasal voice pierced Brad’s awareness.
Brad listened to his buddy gasp and cough as he cut through the smoke toward the group.
“And what blew up this time?” Earl said.
Jade made ready to climb aboard the remaining aircraft, but May pulled her back down.
“Enough killing for one day, Jade.” She held her friend’s hand tightly in both of hers.
“Jade? That you?” Earl said, bent over and hacking up phlegm. “Hey, babe, glad you could make it. Nice work on the dam, by the way.”
“Get over here,” Brad called to Earl, and tried to clear the vapors from his lungs. “Help me with this.”
“What happened to Igor?”
“Hit in the back by two bullets,” Brad said, and reached for Sullivan’s left shoe.
“But I saw him put on a bulletproof vest.”
“That stopped the bullets, but it didn’t keep the shock from stopping his heart.” He pulled the leather wingtip off the inert and heavy foot and began probing the indentations in the heel.
“Shouldn’t we hook him up to a car battery or something instead of messing with his shoes?” Earl asked skeptically.
“Shut up!” It wasn’t working. Which dimple should he press? If this didn’t work, the whole dream thing was a total waste, not to mention untrue.
He jabbed in the center, then the outer dimples. He tried to swing the heel either way.
Relax. Press the dimple.
He selected the indentation closest to the back and pushed inward with his index finger. The dimple gave way easily and the heel swung away from the shoe.
He closed his eyes with relief. It was true. It was all true.
“Cool,” Earl said. “How’d you learn about that?”
Brad glanced over at his patient. The flaccid face gave him a chill. “My father told me.”
He popped out two tiny see-through containers, each with a single pill hermetically sealed inside.
“Okay, which one is the nitroglycerin?” He looked up at the circle of anxious faces.
“How should I know?” Earl said. “You knew about the Get Smart shoe, but you don’t know which pill to give him?”
“So I don’t know everything, okay?”
May quickly bent down to give Sullivan another lungful of air.
Brad studied the two pills more closely. One was a pink gel capsule and the other was a small blue tablet. Neither had an identifying mark.
Pink like the dusk. Blue like the dawn.
Oh, that really helps.
“Can someone help me out here? One is cyanide and the other is nitroglycerin.”
“Don’t look at me,” Earl said. “I don’t want to play ‘Ducks and Drakes’ with the poor guy’s very existence.”
Brad popped the cases open. “Jade, do you know which is which?”
She shook her head. “I never learned about this.”
May resumed pressing down on Sullivan’s heart.
Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t, the voice sang in his ear.
Brad began to hum the jingle in his mind while inspecting the two pills, one lethal, the other poised to save Sullivan’s life. Which one was which?
Then he caught a whiff of one of the pills. The pink capsule had a strong smell of amaretto. The pleasant aroma transported him back to the Sonora Bar & Grill in Tucson. Amaretto Stone Sour. Made from almonds, it was quite the drink to offer young ladies. Almond extract. Almond Joy. Could such a scent contain the deadly traces of cyanide? Almond on his breath. He recalled some Alfred Hitchcock flick where the police detective smelled traces of almond around the dead man’s mouth.
Pink like the dusk.
His eyes shifted to the blue tablet.
Blue like the dawn.
That was the nitroglycerin. That was the cure.
He placed the blue tablet under Sullivan’s strangely dry tongue and dropped the other on the floor. He held his finger on top of the tongue and pressed down.
“Keep pumping,” he told May, desperate for the nitroglycerin to be absorbed into Sullivan’s blood and help his heart restart.
The CPR wasn’t working. The pill wasn’t working. Sullivan’s eyes looked even more glazed.
Brad was on the verge of tears. He bent close to Sullivan’s ear and gave a loud, though hoarse, whisper. “I know everything…who you are. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for believing in me.”
The agent Bradley West, Senior, appeared to smile. Brad leaned back and gazed into his eyes.
“There is a beat from the heart,” May cried. She excitedly moved to Sullivan’s wrist for confirmation.
Then, out of Sullivan’s mouth came a cough and a swallow. The pill had worked. It had brought Brad’s father back to life.
No. You have restored him to life.
The smoke gradually began to clear from May’s eyes as Liang’s turbojet engine faded in the distance.
Then the familiar voice of an old man floated across the empty space. “Hello, little lotus blossom.”
May turned. It was her father. She would have jumped into his arms if he weren’t holding the two remaining soldiers at gunpoint.
“Have you become a warrior now?” she asked, surprised.
“A scientist is always a warrior, daughter. But we fight bigger battles.”
He looked down at Sullivan lying on the floor. “Are you hurt?”
Sullivan smiled weakly. “Just a couple of sore spots in my back and a few cracked ribs.”
May’s hand shot up to her mouth, and she and Brad exchanged glances. Perhaps they had tried too hard to revive him. She began to cover the evidence by buttoning Sullivan’s shirt back up.
“Hey. What’s this?” her father said. He dropped to one knee to pick up the pink capsule.
“Don’t touch it!” the group said in unison.
May stared down at the miracle that stirred under her hands.
All around them, vehicles and boots entered the hangar. She glanced up to see the troops form rapidly before them. Her father calmly laid down his rifle, as did Jade. Then he raised his hands in surrender.
A jeep pulled up and a dripping wet gentleman stood up behind the windshield. May let out her breath. She knew the man.
“Premier Yang,” her father exclaimed. “So kind of you to pay us a visit in this hour of need.”
“Dr. Yu, my friend,” Yang said. “What is happening here?”
Sullivan struggled to sit up. An ironic smile was on his lips.
May’s father indicated the jet taking off at the end of the runway. “That is Liang, who has stolen a plane and is leaving the scene of a crime.”
The soggy prime minister jumped out of the jeep in a manner that belied his advanced years.
“How did Liang get away?” The question came from a stone-faced general in the driver’s seat beside him.
“General Chen,” Yang ordered sternly. “Bring that plane back. In pieces if necessary.”
“Right away, sir,” the general said, and radioed his staff at the Southern Command.
Then the prime minister turned to the injured man on the floor. “And who is this? One of your band of heroes?”
“A major player from America,” May’s father said, and stepped forward protectively. “We have much to explain and much for which we should be thankful. But there is one young man who has put his life on the line to save our nation.”
Chapter 40
Prime Minister Yang Shuping sat toweling off on the back of the jeep and waited for word from China’s Southern Command in Chongqing.
General Chen got off the radio and
turned to him. “Our planes are already aloft, sir.”
“Why do you sound so uneasy?”
“Because we are flying much slower jets than the J-10. We’ll never catch up with Liang.”
Mao’s trousers, Yang thought. Liang was getting away.
Seated in the palatial Government House in Bangkok, General Ittipol Montree looked about the four walls of his office. As Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Thai Air Force, he had received a report from Chiang Mai that a formation of planes was approaching Thai airspace from China. As yet, there was no word from his wing commander in Chiang Mai that the planes had turned back.
At last the wing commander’s voice came over the speakerphone. “They’ve crossed the border, sir. The Chinese planes are now over Thailand.”
“Where are our jets?”
“On course to intercept the intruders in fifteen minutes.”
“Understood.”
“Shall we engage the Chinese, sir?”
“Not yet. Hold fire until I authorize it.”
General Montree clicked off the phone and stared hard at his desk. What could he do? He had tried everything from contacting the jets to calling the Chinese Minister of the Army. He would have tried to reach China’s president if news services hadn’t reported him dead.
There was one last possibility. He sat forward and pressed the button on his speakerphone. “Get me the prime minister of China.”
A minute later, he had China’s head of government on the line.
“This is Yang,” came the voice. The orderly clomp of military boots resounded in the background.
“Mr. Prime Minister, this is General Montree, Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Thai Air Force. We are facing a desperate situation.”
“You’re not the only ones,” Prime Minister Yang said. “Someone is trying to take over our government.”
“Then let me be brief,” General Montree said. “Our country is under attack from several dozens of your military jets.”
“No, General. I can assure you, we are not your enemy. No attack from China is underway.”
“How can I be sure of that?”
“I give you my solemn word. We are trying to rectify an internal situation here.”
“Well, you’re doing it over our airspace.”
Montree paused to think about it. Unless he was a terrific actor, the prime minister seemed to be telling the truth and was in a real bind.
“Is there any way we can help you?” Montree asked.
“You can help us in one way.”
“What’s that?” he said cautiously.
“I’ll call off our formation, but please shoot down the lead plane.”
General Montree sat up straight. “Shoot down your lead plane?”
“The world will thank you in its struggle against terrorism.”
“As you wish,” he said with a shrug, and hung up the phone.
He pressed his callback button to Chiang Mai at once. “I just talked with China.”
“What’s going on, sir?” his anxious commander said.
“First tell me the status of the intruders.”
“Sir,” the voice came back excitedly. “The lead jet has continued into our airspace, but the large formation seems to have broken off pursuit and is returning to their base.”
“Just as promised,” General Montree said with satisfaction.
Then he leaned forward to issue the next order.
“It seems that we have a special role to play in the war against terrorism. Shoot down that remaining plane.”
Liang soared into Thai airspace and leaned back in his pilot’s seat to relax. As he predicted, his pursuers had turned back.
But suddenly, five more blips appeared on the Zemchug radar of his head-up display.
He peered into the gathering dusk. The light of the setting sun reflected off of five low-wing monoplanes. They were F-5E Tiger II supersonic fighters from the Royal Thai Air Force.
That wouldn’t be a problem. His GPS navigation system said he was already close enough to his desired drop zone.
Suddenly, an alarm began wailing in his ears. His missile warning system had activated. He was being targeted. First the dam, now this. He adjusted his helmet and prepared to eject.
He dropped chaff and a dozen flares. Then he hauled back on the throttle grip, leaned on the controller stick and banked sharply. He leveled off at the last possible second as one of the three air-to-air missiles homed in on his exhaust pipe.
“Lone live the Motherland,” he screamed, then pulled the emergency handle in order to pop the canopy and detonate the ejection charges under his seat.
Almost immediately, a fiery explosion consumed his J-10 fighter jet and scattered it into thousands of tiny bits.
Chapter 41
Brad opened an eye. Once again he was in bed in Cheno’s house. And to his relief, Sullivan was very much alive, though staring at him with concern deeply etched in his face.
“Brad,” Sullivan said. “I forgot to tell you which pill was which.”
“Never mind. Got it,” Brad answered drowsily. “You survived.”
Sullivan let out his breath. “Well, that’s a relief. Being alive in two realities is twice the fun.”
“So, what were we talking about?” Brad said with a yawn. He had become accustomed to the abrupt reality transitions. “I hope it’s important, because I think May is about to throw her arms around me.”
“Oh, May.” Sullivan drew in his breath sharply, then tried to smile. “Well, congratulations, son. That’s great.”
“But, of course, she’s not real, you’re about to say?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s not so simple. As I was saying,” Sullivan picked up the conversation where they had left off, “you were flagged for certain personal characteristics. That’s what brought you to our attention, and it’s how I found you.”
He gestured toward Cheno.
“Chenoweth’s house, and the ‘students’ who use it are part of an experimental initiative funded by the CIA. While they report their findings to us, we allow them to function with a certain degree of autonomy.”
“So Cheno’s a spook, too?”
“I prefer to think of myself as an explorer,” Cheno said. “We get to choose our expeditions and our crew, and they get to pay for it.”
“But I thought you’re friends with Earl.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Cheno said. “Skeeter’s a great guy. Real funny. It was the one time I actually enjoyed getting acquainted with someone for ulterior motives. So, when I learned that the university was booting you out, I told Skeeter I was looking for a roommate. He didn’t tell you, by the way, that he paid your first month’s rent?”
“That bastard. I’ll kill him,” Brad said with indignity.
“It turned out to be useful keeping you close by with all the hullabaloo surrounding your murder investigation,” Sullivan added.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that little thing,” Brad said. “At first, Earl and I thought Jade had set me up.”
“Don’t be harsh on her,” Sullivan said. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at him. “At that time, she was under the heavy burden of serving two masters. In order to keep Liang’s trust, it was necessary for her to carry out his request to help frame you.”
“So my welfare and criminal record were less important than Liang’s trust?”
Sullivan waved off the suggestion. “The boys in surveillance didn’t expect him to throw a little murder into the equation.”
“But why kill a colonel?”
“Apparently the colonel had the audacity to berate Liang in public.”
“And that made it worth killing him? My step-dad berated me all the time, but that’s not why I killed him.”
Sullivan exchanged glances with Cheno, then returned to Brad. “So he’s no longer alive?”
“Well, I did help engineer his death.”
Sullivan looked worried. “And Liang berated you in public,
too?”
“Oh yeah.”
“And what did you do to him?”
“Oh, he’s dead alright,” Brad said. “Shot out of the sky.”
Cheno gave a whoop. “Take Liang off the Most Wanted list!”
Sullivan looked more sober. “That’s more than we even dared hope for. You’ve done remarkably well.”
“Me? Ha!” Brad rubbed his throat, which still felt raw from the prune having been lodged in it. “You can thank the Thai Air Force for that.”
He rolled away and thought about all that had happened in China. In effect, he and his buddies had thwarted a coup attempt on the Chinese leadership.
“Pop, forgive me. I’m having a real hard time buying into the concept that all that happened to me in China was just a super-intense drug trip.”
“PsyOps, man,” Cheno said.
“What?”
“Your old man is a pioneer, Brado. Don’t know if you’re up on your history and the more esoteric aspects of the Cold War, my friend, but there’s a new dawn arisin’.”
“Psychological operations?”
“Remember remote viewing, the psychic intrusion upon enemy personnel and facilities?” Cheno said. “In response to the Soviets, the Agency began training and using psychics to try and get any advantage over their adversary. While our success rate was low, it always made sense to keep developing the technology.”
Sullivan cleared his throat. “And thanks to recent discoveries by our intrepid researchers in South America…” He gave a nod to Cheno. “…we now know it’s possible to affect one set of realities by the manipulation of another.”
“Sorry. I don’t follow. How does one man’s hallucination affect reality?”
“You’re the living proof, man,” Cheno practically shouted. “You used your dad’s information about the pill in this reality to save his life in that reality. And you charged over to China with the white light of pure intent to rescue May and caused a desired outcome in this reality.”
“So you’re saying I flew to China on the astral plane instead of a 747?” He didn’t know if the cockamamie explanation should make him feel relieved, pissed off, or both.
