by Glenn Ball
The hallway to her room was dark. Outside her door a candelabra on each side cast a strange dim glow on its frame. The arched wooden door to this room was barely five feet tall and seemed a portal to hell; carved into the stone above it was a skull with bat wings and the inscription, “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate".
Taking hold of the round brass knocker he gave it his signature rhythm so that she would know it was him. As usual it took several minutes for a response. This was about the only person in the world for whom Ochoa exercised patience. The response was slow but came eventually. A small hole above the knocker opened and a dark eye could be seen checking him out. Promptly the door opened, and he was invited in.
“Doña Zen, I need some of your medicine.”
“For months I don’t see you, and this is the way you greet me?” Behind her was a small wood burning stove. There was a hissing, bubbling sound of something boiling above its fire. His eyes gravitated to the pipe above the stove where all the smoke escaped out through the roof. “What might she be cooking up this time,” he wondered. What he was hoping for was a little potion that would help him relax and sleep for a few hours so that he would be ready for the long journey he had ahead of him. It seemed she had potions for just about everything. He regularly used one potion to help him recognize solutions to his problems. He had used a love potion to get Alicia to fall for him. He had used another potion to kill off various enemies. Another potion was giving him longevity and vitality, another mesmerizing control over his enemies, and another that calmed and relaxed his nerves. She stretched her neck back to look up at him. She was a tiny creature, barely half his size.
“I know; it’s just that I can’t sleep!” The pungent odor of her potion nearly made him sneeze.
She turned and scuttled back to the stove to stir her brew. “Must be that little whore that’s got you messed up; ever since she grew a figure, she’s done a number on you.”
Alicia had never known that this old hag had been in cahoots with him to recruit her as a prostitute. All those years previous Doña Zen had “prophesied” about Espinosa’s fate and Alicia had nearly accepted her doom as a foregone conclusion. She never truly knew the truth of the matter. Even back then Antonio had been forming the scheme he hoped to offer to terrorists someday and was scouting out zika victims to provide his ranks with those immune to the disease.
As it turned out, Espinosa had been the perfect specimen, having suffered every known symptom of the disease, and therefore was gauged to offer the most immunity possible.
But then he had fallen for her, and that complicated things. And this scraggly old hag had seen through him the day Alicia had gotten a hold of his heart. It sometimes drove him nuts that she knew. He prided himself on being untouchable. Maybe that had something to do with his extremes in maintaining control over Espinosa. Whatever the case may be, he did not like the fact that she was still getting the better of him, even while hundreds of miles away and completely out of his grasp.
“Here you go…drink up.” With her scrawny twisted fingers Doña Zen handed him a simmering cup. He chugged it down, wincing at the awful flavor. Doña Zen cackled. Her laugh grated on his nerves. It was as if she was sneering at him, enjoying the suffering he went through to get to his state of rest.
Sitting back, he let the drug take its effect. Doña Zen watched him as she stirred her brew, her pale face glowing in the dim light like a moon on a cloudy night as the rising vapor passed in front of it.
As the minutes dragged out the room seemed to spin slightly. Antonio’s mind was beginning to relax. He was drifting back to his conversation with Abdul at the lab, remembering it as if it were yesterday. Almost like a dream his mind played back the whole event.
Dr. Horacio Asa was standing on one side of him, and Al-Faheem on the other. They were in an observation room similar to that of the chemical weapons demonstration. Dr. Asa had joined them upon their arrival to the biological lab and had been explaining procedures to Al-Faheem.
Six beds lined the walls beyond the tempered glass of the room they were watching. Strategically placed cameras throughout the room offered views of zika patients in various stages of suffering. The angles of the cameras were ideal yet hindered by the low level of light in the room. “These young ladies are prized test subjects of the zika virus. The virus causes super-sensitivity to light, so we keep the room dimly lit.” Al-Faheem was listening intently to the doctor and his explanations; the previous demonstration of the man dying in spasms in a cloud of chemical poison had fully captured his interest.
“Señor Abdul, do you remember our discussion of turning people into incubators, carriers and delivery mechanisms?” The doctor wore thick glasses which he adjusted nervously on his bald head as he spoke.
“Yes, you said you had found a way to get viruses into populations by using human subjects that have been proven immune to those viruses. But what I could not understand is that once a body is immune, does it not destroy that virus?”
“Exactly; and that is what makes our achievement so profound. We have developed a material that can insulate the virus, quarantining the virus from the rest of the body so to speak, so that it may remain in the bloodstream of our host subject without triggering antibodies. What’s more this material, PM32A, automatically dissolves when transferred into a new host body as it is specifically designed by us for the bodies into which we inject it.” The doctor paused, waiting for Abdul to process the information. Studying Al-Faheem through his thick lenses the doctor then asked, “Do you follow me?”
“No, I’m not sure that I do.”
“To put it more simply…We found a way to put tiny capsules inside the human body. Each of these capsules has its own “skin” or membrane, and that skin keeps the virus within the capsule out of direct contact with the bloodstream of the host.” As the doctor spoke his mouth frequently upturned as if wanting to break into a smile but not daring to. “Because that skin mimics the DNA of the host body, it triggers no alarm for the host body to attack it. However, once any one of those capsules carrying the virus enters a new host body the DNA of that capsule does not match its new host. The result is that the immune system begins to attack the skin of the capsule, and the virus is released in its new host.” The doctor broke off with a nervous laugh.
“And you say the virus not only spreads by mosquito bites but also through sexual intercourse?” Al-Faheem was no longer looking at the doctor; his mind was racing as he stared off into the darkness of the patients’ room.
“Yes.” The doctor rejoined.
“Are you starting to get the picture now Señor Abdul?” Ochoa was proud of the years of work now about to pay off, and his summary of its intent as he recounted it to Mr. Abdul reflected that pride. “We already have an army of zika-immune prostitutes placed where you wanted the plagues to begin.
“The cities will begin to experience tremendous zika breakouts and will be scrambling to spray their cities for mosquitos as they’ve done for West Nile Virus in the past. The chemical compound we’ve developed for killing mosquitos is hands down the best out there and will help secure the government contract. The compounds look and smell alike, and seem to behave the same way, i.e. until the dust touches the skin. Once they discover the difference it will be too late.”
“Yes, I do believe I am beginning to see the full picture now.” Al-Faheem continued to stare into the darkness, as if wanting confirmation of the zika’s effectiveness. He had approached the glass so closely his nose was nearly pressed up against it. “The crop-duster planes that I bought will be put to even better use than I had anticipated. The compound that you have developed to kill mosquitos will gain me the government contracts for fumigating the nasty little creatures. And by nasty little creatures I mean the American infidels. Because the compound that we will use will not be the mosquito spray, but the chemical compound that literally ate that man alive back there. And all this will be made possible by a zika plague spread by women such as these h
ere that I cannot see. Am I getting it right?” Al-Faheem turned his eyes from the other room at this moment to look straight in Ochoa’s eyes.
“Yes, that sums it up quite nicely.
“And one additional item. The contract calls for the government to supply fifty additional crop-duster planes for the venture. We fully anticipate their compliance.”
Antonio reached for a knob on the wall. “Allow me to provide you with a better view of what zika will do,” Ochoa Machado continued, as he turned a knob that brightened the room.
Abdul was slightly startled by the nearly naked woman standing less than a foot from him. Separated only by the tempered glass he was able to carefully observe her. She was blinking profusely, yet seemed to be observing him as well, carefully studying the glass.
Antonio laughed to himself, and explained, “The glass is a mirror on her side. She sees only herself.”
The woman’s face seemed to be swollen all out of proportion. Her skin was red and puffy-looking, and her eyes worse than blood-red. Her thin white hospital gown did not do much to hide the naked figure underneath. He could deduce that she normally would be a very voluptuous woman had this disease not temporarily distorted her features.
Across the room a woman lay in bed shivering. Her sheets were sopping wet.
Another woman sat up in her bed squinting at the lights that had awakened her. She grimaced in obvious pain, holding her arms as if they had been broken, the lines on her face accentuating her suffering.
“Imagine a city suffering from a plague like this, and those that do not succumb being bombed with the poison you witnessed earlier.”
“Yes, praise Allah. These are the results we are looking for. This will do nicely.” With searching eyes Al-Faheem turned his gaze back upon Ochoa. “There is just one other item. As appealing as all this seems to me, we do not do business with Catholics. I understand you have converted to Islam. Is that true?”
Antonio could never forget the uncomfortable feeling that question gave him. It was as if someone aimed a search light at him and was scraping out the innermost thoughts of his being to get at the truth. And Ochoa always hated the truth.
“Gloria al Allah. Yes, I left the Catholic faith when I was a child. Ten years ago, I decided to follow Allah and have been Moslem ever since.” He carefully maintained his poker face. Even if he wasn’t a true follower of Islam, one thing he was…a darned good liar.
“Hmm...I will take your word for it…for now.”
The conversation was fading from his thoughts, yet the feeling of that searchlight bearing down on his soul remained. What if Espinosa told all to the authorities in the U.S.? She certainly knew enough to spoil their plans. And with the capsules of the zika virus in her bloodstream she could prove it too. He opened his eyes to the unnerving glare of Doña Zen as she stood uncomfortably close. In her hand she held another cup of that steamy brew he had drunk.
“Here, do you want another cup? You look like you need it tonight.” Her scratchy voice grated his nerves. How ironic that she was his only solace, the only one who could soothe his soul.
CHAPTER 17
A Lost Pearl
Flying at forty-one thousand feet in Ochoa’s private jet, the earth looked like a little playground for these men in their power suits who thrilled at playing God. The lives they destroyed appeared insignificant from this frosty height. Their hearts as icy and aloof as the plane, they relaxed in their plush seats while making their plans to make billions off of the terrorism and destruction of the United States.
Antonio sipped from his wine cup in his right hand, letting the smooth taste roll around on his tongue before swallowing. With his left hand he seemed to shape his words as he spoke.
“You’re going to like the new selection of dames I brought. We’ll put on a little show for you here in a bit. But first we have to take care of business.” He fixed his eyes on his legal counselor Franklin Salazar. “I want to make sure when we get to DC everything is squared away, you know what I mean.” Antonio held Frank’s eyes with his gaze.
Frank’s eyes did not back down. “We’ll get you fixed up Antonio. Don’t worry about that.”
There was nothing particularly spectacular about Salazar’s appearance. But as he listened broodingly an onlooker could glean hints at his deep intelligence. He was a smart dresser, obviously with plenty of money at his disposal.
Frank opened an attaché case he had at his side, pulling out several documents. He began spreading them out before his client on a small table.
“Franky, before you start, I just have to say that I love to fly. And you want to know why?”
Looking up from the documents he responded to the obliging question. “Why do you love to fly?”
“Because up here I am an eagle; up here I don’t have any of these bullsh*t laws to contend with. I don’t like the feel of gravity, if you know what I mean.…I don’t like laws that bind me and hold me down.”
“That’s why you need someone like me to show you how to make the laws work in your favor.” Frank’s mouth turned up at one corner in a half smile.
He began explaining in detail the answers to several doubts and questions that had been raised by Ochoa in previous conversations. He took the time to translate the legal jargon into Spanish, and to break it down to make it simple. As an international trade lawyer Salazar was fluent in Spanish, German and French.
“Entonces así se puede evitar el tramite. Nunca darian cuenta.” Frank had found all the loopholes, and Antonio was breaking out in a smile. Everything was coming together thanks to this legal genius. The massive lease of fifty crop-duster planes from the US government for dispersion of the “pesticide chemicals” by Abdul’s dummy corporation had seemed an insurmountable hurdle, but with Frank’s magic touch it was well within their grasp.
“You’re good! You even found a way to turn some of those G** d**n f***g laws into my friends. Instead of blocking my negotiations they are actually going to help make them possible.” Downing the last of another cup of wine he slapped the table.
“Okay, it’s time we had a show! Pump the music!”
Reggaeton busted out of hidden speakers in the walls. It was the cue for the sensuous models to parade through the cabin in sheer lingerie. Everything was exposed by the sexy lingerie. It was not designed to be sold to women, but for the models to be sold to men.
Antonio slapped Frank on the shoulder. “So, what do you think? Are we going to make money or what?”
The roar of air scraping its claws across the plane was shut out by the din of their party music in that bulletproof cave so far removed from the world. They would remain gods, controlling the destiny of many, held aloft by nothing more than air and sheer volition; that is unless some little bird got sucked into one of their jets exploding their little world to the ground.
Antonio was getting a lap dance when it happened…. His cell phone began to vibrate.
“Mother of God! I can’t believe it! She set off the tracking device. Alicia, you’re mine now!” He pushed the model away, slapping her butt as he did so. “Hernandez,” he waved him over, and shouted in his ear. “Tell the pilot to turn the plane north. We’ve got to find this b*tch.”
Frank never missed a thing, and as captivated as he was with two models dancing right in front of him, he could not help a curious glance toward Antonio. The mob boss was all too eager to explain and came over to share the view while giving Frank the low down.
“You remember Alicia?” The lawyer nodded in the affirmative. “I planted a tracking device in her pearl necklace. The moment she hitches the metal pieces together it sets off the signal. I can track her anywhere in the world this way.”
“But why in her pearl necklace?”
“Because I make it a point to know my people; I find their weak spots, and that way they never get out from under my thumb.” He snickered. “Those pearls are her most prized possession. She never lets them out of her sight.”
********
/> “You’re in a safe home now. When I found you, you were clean fainted away. You’ll be alright now.” The man looked at her with a kind face.
Alicia rubbed her eyes, trying to focus them. Her eyelids were heavy as she looked around confused. She was no longer in Ixquintepec. She sat up slowly, trying to recapture the past few days. Where had she been? It started to come back to her…. She had been in the woods in Louisiana in a hunter’s shelter.
“I can see you’re a little confused as to where you are and how you got here, aren’t you, young lady? I found you up yonder at the hunter’s camp. I was walking my dogs out that way. They like to go there; must be the smell of all the wild game.” He chuckled at the mention of his dogs.
“Anyways it was them that found you. I just followed along till I saw what got them all in a dither. There you were, lying there passed out and overheated like a tractor that’s blown its radiator. Let me tell you darlin’, that hunter’s camp is nowhere to be without food or water.” He looked at her with a concerned face. “Here, drink some of this here water,” he said as he handed her a tall glass of water.
With trembling hands, she took the glass from his thick fingers. It was obvious he was used to working around the farm by the looks of those hands. He was a man with a plump face and a cheery demeanor. By the gray in his hair she judged him to be in his sixties.
Taking a deep breath as if exhausted he continued. “I had a might hard time carrying you out of there. And it was a long ways to my pickup. But I knew I had to get you where you could be proper cared for.” At that he stopped, looked around, and with his hands indicated the rooms around them. “And here you are. This here house ain’t much, but it’s my house, and it’s safe. Here you’ll get plenty of food and water. I figure after a day or two you’ll start to feel better. You can stay here all you want, but I reckon you’ve got some place to go once you’re able.”