Facelift

by Ernest Olson

  Chapter 18

  Jackie Chan would be out of this room faster

  than McGyver could build a bomb.

  I hate to wake up to a lighted room, but when I dozed off the light was blazing brightly and no one had been thoughtful enough to turn it off. I looked at the light glaring down at me and remembered something a friend of mine once said, “We are like suns, too close to see the source of our light, we must rely on the presence of others to glimpse its reflection.” Bright, vivacious, and athletic Vicki would have given Lisa Marie a run for the money. Then I remembered where I was, and suddenly I wasn’t very happy. My back was aching, a frequent companion stemming from the big motorcycle accident of ‘76. My neck ached, another visitor that found its genesis in an automobile accident that occurred in 1989. In that accident, I had been rear-ended by a student who had just signed up for my class. After we exchanged information she said, “You’re Dr. Oldenberger! Oh my, maybe I should drop your class.” I didn’t let her. I wanted revenge, but she turned out to be a much better student than she was driver...she earned an A for her permanent record. I had earned a permanent neck ache to remind me of her.

  The room was too bright, and I was still lying on the bed, my towel and come undone and was crumpled on the floor. Then I saw what had awakened me, it was the big guy standing by the door. “Vell aren’t you duh pretty vun...” he said with a hint of a chuckle.

  “Yeah, but you’re not my type; send in the blond.” He liked that. He had a deep rolling laugh. To an outside observer, it would appear that the big guy was my number one fan. But, I wasn’t deceived. I knew that he could cancel my show at a moment’s notice, and would probably find putting a bullet in my head the best joke of the day.

  “Ya, dat’s funny! But, you might vant to put some clothes on, you gonna haf a visitor.”

  “Monica Lewinsky?” That should have brought the house down, but he didn’t smile. He simply said, “Mei Ling Kong.”

  Before I had a chance to grab the towel, Razor Eyes pushed a bound and blindfolded version of Lisa Marie Chin into the room. She stumbled toward the bed, and before I could react she tumbled on top of me. In my most daring fantasies I’d been in this same position with Ms. Chin, but the circumstances were considerably different. I scooted out from under the lioness, grabbed my towel and proceeded to remove the black silk hood from her enchanting face. Obviously, not everyone appreciated her beauty as much as I. Somebody had tried to rearrange her facial architecture.

  “Hi,” I quietly said. I couldn’t think of anything profound or witty. Hi seemed to say it all.

  “Hi, back at you. I see you didn’t take my advice.”

  “I was going to but, I got an invitation to stay that I couldn’t refuse.”

  “I got the same invitation, but I tried to turn it down.”

  I gently began to remove the duct tape that they had used to bind her arms and hands. “I can’t believe that Interpol would use duct tape, don’t cops use cuffs and shackles?”

  “They’re not cops, CB,” she said.

  I got her out of her bonds, soaked a towel in cold water and did the best I could with her wounds. The bruises were largely superficial and what I had originally thought to be lacerations were abrasions, probably from a gloved fist.

  She was lying on the bed looking more like a beaten puppy than a soldier for the most feared Triad in the world. “How do you feel? Did they hit you anywhere else?"

  “No, just my face and head.”

  “Headache?”

  “You might say that...”

  I had been studying Chinese acupressure for the past several years. One of my trips to China had been to study Tui Na, a form of manipulation that increases the movement of healing energy throughout the body. I had even taken a course in the use of acupuncture and acupressure in effecting changes in facial contours. That’s right--I had studied Chinese facelift methodology. I would have tried it, but my teacher was more wrinkled than a prune. But, right now cosmetic surgery wasn’t part of my lexicon. My immediate concern was helping Lisa Marie, and all I had was a cool towel and five years of training in traditional Chinese acupressure.

  A lot of people are skeptical when it comes to the value of Chinese medicine. I am not one of them. The only true relief I have found for my neck and back pain has come from acupressure and acupuncture. That’s why I started studying Asian medicine. There are lots of theories regarding Chinese medicine, but none of them adequately explains the neurophysiology or chemical basis of acupuncture. As a scientist I wanted to know how it worked, wanted to figure it out. After five years of study, I still didn’t know what makes Chinese medicine tick. What I did know was that it worked.

  I gently removed Lisa’s shoes and began to apply pressure on point number 41 on the Gall Bladder Meridian. As I held the points I noticed her feet. They were nicely pedicured, but heavily callused. I had seen the same calluses on the feet of martial artists that I had treated while studying in China. It didn’t surprise me. Similarly, when I applied pressure to point ST36 on the tibialis anterior, I noticed that her leg muscles were unusually developed. She was a well-conditioned athlete. In holding her hand and applying pressure to LI4, I looked closely at the outer edge of each hand. There was a discernible callus, something I had not noticed when dancing with her. Ms. Chin was indeed more than she appeared.

  She responded well to the treatment. Color returned to her face and she brightened as her headache diminished. “You’re a handy man to have around. I know something about Chinese medicine, and you impress me CB. Thank you, I feel much better.” She pulled herself up onto her elbows and looked at my naked chest. “Ya all didn’t have to dress for me.” She was feeling better, the Texas accent sounded good.

  “If you would feel more comfortable, I’ll help you undress,” I said.

  “Not the time...”

  I cut in, “Not the place...yep, I know. I heard it before.” I slid into the bathroom and put on a pair of clean pants and a fresh shirt from the wardrobe. As I was dressing, Lisa was talking.

  “I wish you had listened to me. We’d be in half as much trouble right now. But, things are manageable. We are dealing with snakeheads from the AK14 Triad. They aren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer. We can get out of this....”

  I felt my brow furrow, “Triads? The Triads are all Chinese, these people are Caucasian.”

  I returned to the bed and sat down next to her. She reached out and put her hand on my leg. I placed my hand on hers and gently caressed it. She answered my question. “Traditionally Triads have been exclusively Chinese, that is true. But, in this multicultural and multinational world, some Triads have seen value in bringing different nationalities into their organizations. AK14 is a pioneer in that sort of thing. They have operatives from almost every major racial and cultural group. The group that is holding us for example, they are all former members of Russian intelligence organizations. They speak several languages and are reasonably well trained.”

  “They are mercenaries, in other words.” I inferred.

  “No, they are more than that; they are full-fledged members of the Triad. They have, in a sense, signed a compact with the Devil. Once you become a soldier in a triad, you are there until you die.”

  “Why is this happening?” I quietly intoned.

  “The AK14 wants to takeover the Chinese-US espionage business. Right now, the Son Ye Triad has the market cornered. It’s an important enterprise. Some people think that the Triad that controls the flow of technological and defense information flowing into China will eventually gain control of the government. China stands to become the most powerful economy in the world, and the people who control that economy will make Bill Gates look like a street vendor.”

  It appeared that Wendell was right on mark. I always knew he was more than just a biology historian. I looked at Lisa and asked, “I suppose you know all of this from your work with third w
orld children.” She didn’t respond so I continued, “Where do we fit in?”

  “They think we are spies, and that you delivered a document to me and they want it.”

  “They took a photo of me giving you an envelope, and from that they are convinced I am a spy,” I said in an indignant tone.

  “I told you they were stupid, and even though they are morons, they are smart enough to be dangerous.”

  “Yeah, look what they did to you.”

  “This was nothing. Jackie Chan takes more abuse in one day of shooting than those guys could dish out in a life time.”

  “Jackie Chan gets shot with film, these guys shoot with cannons.”

  She smiled, just a bit, and said, “Very funny, you should go on stage.”

  I was going to make a comment about the big guy laughing at my jokes, but thought better of it. Lisa stood up, adjusted her clothing, and began to do some light stretches. She had a quiet countenance, she was the kind of person who couldn’t panic if she had to; the kind of person who can turn terror into an asset. That was good because I had enough terror inside for the both of us. I could be a great asset, provided she had some kind of plan.

  “Do we have plan?” I asked.

  “Well, I’ve given this some thought and I am…, but first, do you have a plan?

  “Hey you seem better at this sort of thing than me. I’m good with plants not plans!”

  She sat back down on the bed and slowly reclined. She game a somewhat mischievous smile and said, “Rub my feet again, and I’ll work on it.”