“That is exactly the case,” Zimmer responds. “This single-celled parasite lives in the intestines of cats, shedding eggs that can be picked up by rats and other animals, like cows. Toxoplasmosis forms cysts throughout its host's brain. Although a T-gondii ridden rat is perfectly healthy, scientists at Oxford discovered that the parasite changes the rats in one subtle but vital way. They no longer fear cats, so they become easy prey. The parasite makes its way to the rat's brain and alters its behavior. The normally-fearful rat becomes attracted to the smell of cats and cat urine. The rats run toward unsuspecting cats and are easily caught to complete the life cycle of the parasite.
“The Oxford scientists knew that humans are hosts to T-gondii also. People become infected by handling soil, kitty litter, and even eating beef. The parasite lives quietly in human brains and seems benign, but, as the young lady stated, pregnant women are advised to avoid contact. In a developing fetus, the T-gondii parasite can have grave consequences. It's estimated that about two thirds, I repeat, two-thirds of all humans on Earth are infected with T-gondii parasite.
“This research is well documented and was studied by the Chinese a decade before the Oxford studies. Finally, I will add that Asians— Japanese, Chinese, Koreans, and so on—seem to be genetically immune to T-gondii. The Chinese became aware of this virus in the 1980s and had been pouring funds into the study of the parasite.”
He stands silently, scanning his audience as if waiting for applause.
“Thank you, Dr. Zimmer.” Thick Glasses And Clipboard pops out of the background with sturdy looking security men who escort Zimmer out of the library. “Now to Operation Thundertaker,” he continues. “The goal of the Chinese T-Gondii project was to create a trigger within a human's brain that replicated the same rat response; in other words, to control the infected subject. It looks as though they have succeeded. We have Intel that the Chinese military has created a genetically modified virus that activates the dormant T-Gondii parasite. Once activated, the parasite grows voraciously in the host's brain, putting its victims into a mild hypnotic state.
“The parasite attacks the frontal cortex of the brain, and the effects can range from light hypnosis to the higher brain functions being completely erased. The host can become a mindless zombie acting on commands.
“Unfortunately, we know little about this trigger virus, its potency, where it's manufactured or how it will be spread. That is the task of this group, to utilize your resources and influence to stop this subversion. Again, two-thirds of the earth's human population is currently infected with the T-gondii parasite. We believe this is a ploy to gain global economic control. The Chinese infrastructure is on a downward trajectory ultimately completely collapsing their infrastructure. The endgame is to control resources and global economics for the projected 10 billion population on earth by 2050.”
He adjusts his glasses, takes a deep breath, and looks up from his clipboard. “Imagine that suddenly you do what you are told. From simple commands that influence purchase decisions, to instructions that your neighbors are the enemy and you must kill them. I'm talking about this occurring very quickly, within 48 hours. Suddenly fifty percent of the earth's population works compliantly for the Chinese government. It's world domination on a global scale, without a single nuclear bomb. In fact, there is no apparent invasion whatsoever. You do what you're told willingly. It seems from our Intel the plan is to deploy this virus globally within sixty days. I repeat, the information here does not leave this room. This is code black. We tested everyone for T-gondii as you entered, and unfortunately, for security reasons, those infected with the parasite cannot participate. Upon leaving, you will be given a secure cell phone. It will be your only source of communication regarding Operation Thundertaker.”
A plan to uncover and eradicate the facilities and individuals involved in this insidious scenario are further discussed.
*
I've cornered Richard Branson and am plying him to fund a documentary travel expedition about the Silk Road. Richard is, of course, friends with Ewan McGregor and Charlie Bormann of “Long Way Round” fame and is reluctant to see the intrinsic value of such a short three-month ride retracing the famous Silk Road from Shanghai to Venice Italy on motorcycles. It's tough selling a man who owns a company that builds spaceships for tourism on such a trivial journey.
Liz cuts in. “Zac, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we will need to leave soon.”
“Richard, this is my friend Liz Duran.” I'm hoping her hypnotic allure will engage Richard in conversation.
“Delighted to meet you, Ms. Duran, So do you think there is a compelling story in riding motorcycles through rural China, following the Silk Road from Shanghai to Venice?” Richard smirks.
“I do, Mr. Branson, and in fact, I believe it may be among the most important undertakings of this decade. The significance of China over the next several years is tantamount to the discovery of atomic power. Unless a clear understanding of culture and intentions are cultivated, we, as a global community, are heading towards catastrophe. I know this to be true.”
Richard is speechless because he can sense Liz is deadly serious. I, too, am dumbfounded.
“Ok, well, I would like to hear more about this project.”
‘May we meet with you to discuss it further?” Liz queries.
Of course, here’s my card. Call my office; I am in France for the week.”
Liz does not break face. She takes Branson's card, thanks him, takes my hand, and we head toward the exit.
“What the hell was that all about?” I exclaim. She stares me down coldly. Liz is strictly business. I know this Liz Duran all too well, and for now, the fun is over. What the hell just happened, I think to myself. Richard Branson, General Madison, the President of France? We get in the limo, and Liz puts her finger to her lips as we silently ride home. The moment we exit the limo she's guns-a-blazing.
“We are going to ride the Silk Road, and we leave in a week. I don't get you, Zac. Are you freakin' psychic? We meet investigating the Corridor of Death and start working together. You take me to Kathmandu, and my mother is an hour away, and now, my CSS agent status has been reactivated and put on another assignment: the damn Silk Road! But this isn’t a pleasure trip, Zac. They want you to come because you give the operation a cover story. You’re being played a patsy once again, only this time the agency is being upfront with you. And your friend Branson, he’s another patsy I need to pull in for the agency. If you thought the Corridor of Death was dangerous, damn it Zac, this is way worse.”
“You mean we are on another mission? Yeah Baby! I love it. C’mon ya gotta tell me more!”
“I can’t tell you shit about it, ever, so don’t ask again.”
*
The next day we have an appointment with Richard Branson and are escorted into another palatial estate. Richard is sitting outside by the pool. “It’s good to see you again Zac, Liz.”
“Thank you for seeing us regarding the Silk Road Project, Mr. Branson. If I may get straight to business. The project is fully funded, but we want your endorsement; it helps enormously for press access. As you know, Zac is an international moto-journalist and he will be covering the day-to-day events. Your sponsorship and media support will allow us access that, quite honestly, we can't buy. I have all the travel documents, itinerary, and filming schedule for you and your attorneys to review. In consideration of your endorsement, all rights to the content will be granted to your media company.”
“You are all business, Liz. I like that,” Branson confided. “If my attorneys approve, I'm in. I do have one demand, though; I want to go with you.”
“Mr. Branson, I understand that you are a global adventurer, but you also know the reality of travel conditions and…”
Richard interrupts, “Please call me Richard. I want to tag along for a few days, you know, the fun part of the journey. Believe me, I have no intention of rambling about the deserts of China for three months.”
Liz flash
es her disarming smile for the first time. “Ok, Mr. Branson—I mean Richard—I will see what I can do.” As he offers us tea, Liz drops her hard shell, and the attractive, magnetic Liz Duran hypnotizes Richard. They're both exceedingly intelligent people and engage in heady conversation. Richard tells us that if we need anything whatsoever, he will assist and gives Liz his direct cell number. I don't know what's happened, but just yesterday I was struggling to convince him to fund my Silk Road project and now Liz has Richard eating out of her hand. This woman is wonderfully dangerous.
We fly into Shanghai and settle in at the Marriott International Hotel. Unless you’ve been here, it almost impossible to grasp the enormity of the world’s largest city. With the world’s busiest port, world’s longest metro system and world’s largest network of highways, this city of 26 million is exasperating.
My hotel room is more like a condominium, and the view is spectacular. I'd read about the “World's Highest Library” located on the 60th floor and need to see it.
It's much smaller than I anticipated, with mirrors on all four walls and very few books for a library. It does have a copy of Il Milione (The Million) more commonly called The Travels of Marco Polo. It's a 13th-century travelogue describing his travels through Asia, China, and Indonesia. Even in the 14th century it was a very popular book. One of the highlights of the room is a ‘secret' passageway located behind a bookcase that leads to a viewing platform on the hotel's 60th-floor rooftop. It’s a strange place, but the view of the Shanghai skyline is spectacular. I am compelled to visit the Library every night during my stay.
The next day we are shuttled back to the airport to a small airplane hangar. Inside, there are six Land Rovers, six Triumph Trophy motorcycles, a small gasoline tanker, and a large motorhome. The facility is buzzing with activity. “This expedition looks more like a military operation,” I note to Liz.
We head over to the motorhome and enter. Inside are Sandman, Cleaning Lady, and Fifi, Liz's team from the Midnight Rider on a Graveyard Run Corridor of Death operation.
“Oh my god, it’s all the usual suspects,” I gush. “It's so great to see you all. Liz conned you into another wild and woolly adventure?”
“Liz is our commanding officer. She says, and we do.” Sandman grinned.
“Unfortunately, General Madison is our commanding officer on this mission,” Cleaning Lady muttered.
We catch up and discuss this new venture, highway 312 and the Silk Road. Unbeknownst to me, it’s called Operation Thundertaker to everyone else. Did I ever have cats? Freakin’ cats ruled my life! My ex had 4 of the damn things, and they slept in our bed. I do have Toxoplasmosis but the powers that be have agreed to my presence as long as I’m kept completely in the dark. Over the next several days, the caravan of 26 people and 14 vehicles prepare for the three month, 4000-mile journey, Shanghai to Kirgizstan along the Silk Road. It is the adventure I've been planning for decades, on steroids.
It's our last night at the Marriot Shanghai. Voodoomama and I sip martinis 60 stories up as the harvest moon glows amber orange over the smog-laden metropolis. We've taken over the library's viewing platform; it's a dangerous place. A small, waist-high railing is the only barrier between us and certain death. She loves it here.
“This is very surreal, Voodoomama. I am conflicted. Liz can't talk about this and I sense I'm the only one here that doesn't know our real mission, how do I fit in?”
“She's a CSS Agent. Of course she can't tell you anything. And you're right about the mission's importance. Look, Zac, you're writing the story you've dreamed about. You can come and go as you please. You have complete support from the government and this convoy.”
“But Cleaning Lady said General Madison is running this mission, so obviously this convoy is a military operation.”
“What did you expect, Zac? Oh how the worm turns. Those who once tried to kill you are here now to protect you. Madison is directing the op from Langley. Of course it is military funded, and those men riding with us are Goldlance. You know more about Goldlance than most, including that the U.S. is selling Goldlance technology to the Chinese. What you don't know is why. We knew there were factions of the Chinese secret service that are developing a global domination strategy but what they don't know is we have a failsafe, much like the EMP disruptor you stumbled onto. We can neutralize the entire Chinese Goldlance operatives with a single command, but that's not what concerns us. Something far more duplicitous jeopardizes the world's safety, but trust me, you are completely safe. Lizzy and I will protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
“That I cannot disclose, but we can talk any time. Just don’t push Liz. She is bound by secrecy. You’re a good man; I’m glad you’re here.” Suddenly I feel expendable. It's the ultimate loneliness.
Voodoomama pulls out a tiny book, The Teachings of Lao Tzu, and hands it to me. “I'm sure the library won't miss it. You can learn much from these ancient Chinese. ‘The longest journey begins with a single step,’” she quotes. “‘Wisdom says I am nothing… love says I am everything.’” It’s uncanny how much Liz and her mother resemble each other.
*
Our first week's journey along highway 312 is pure pomp and circumstance. I'm concerned that Mr. Branson's public support has turned this into a traveling circus rather than a travelogue. Traditional Chinese welcoming ceremonies, departure ceremonies and elaborate dinners abound at every stop. It feels more like a parade/charade than any travel expedition.
The highlight so far is the city of Xian and the Terracotta Warriors. Emperor Qin had unified China in 221 B.C. and built the most powerful empire at that time. The Terracotta Army was built to protect and serve him in the afterlife. There are thought to be 8000 statues within the giant complex. Emperor Qin was superstitious, believed in immortality and searched for “elixir of life" during his reign.
To walk among these statues is absolutely awesome. It’s as if one is walking through room full of mirrors; in every direction stands the likes of Emperor Qin himself. He has definitely found immortality. Two thousand years later his power and presence are truly palpable.
That evening my dreams unfold wildly.
A burning desert sun beats down hard. I am holding a large, leather bound book with the flower of life mandala ornately embossed into its thick brown hide. Blowing the sand off the weathered cover reveals the words “The Seer”. Opening the book, the first page says “Written by…” There is no name and as I flip through the book, it’s empty, with all the pages blank. Turning back to the beginning I see there is long thin delicately carved pencil tucked inside the front cover binding. It looks like a chopstick. I remove the pencil and write my own name. Written by Zachary King.
Replacing the pencil I turn the page and the book comes to life, to my life. I see colorful, wildly psychedelic images of the most influential moments of my past. Page by page my timeline is revealed. I turn to the present and see the image of me looking at this very book at a blank page. I freeze. I am looking at this very moment in time. Staring deeply into page I see an endless stream of this very moment, like two mirrors of me into infinity my every movement is mimicked. I know this is a dream. I’m a lucid dreamer but this room full of mirrors has my heart racing. Is it my responsibility to continue writing the story of my own future? Am I forever stuck in the eternal now?
In a complete panic I slam the book closed and standing before me is Astara, my Dakini. My spirit guide that has been visiting me in various forms since I was a child.“What’s happening?” I ask her.
“A seer can never see their own future,” she replies.
“Then whose future can I see?”
“Whose do you want to see?” she hints.
I open the book, erase my name and write instead “Liz Duran.”
The book comes to life; I see the river of her life flowing through its pages. I see the very moment that we came to this very desert spot and set up camp. Turning the page into her future, Liz is standing in the open des
ert in Yoga tree pose, arms held high. Slowly multiple hands and arms began to grow from her body until she looks exactly the Hindu goddess Kali. Moving like an underwater octopus, heads and bodies begin to grow out of Liz. Three on each side form then float weightless around her. They are all identical to Liz. Suddenly arms began to grow again from all the women and begin entwining into a complex mirrored matrix kaleidoscope of moving arms and hands. The book abruptly closes.
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