by C M Dancha
Without looking up, Poppy said, "Yes, Madam Martina."
"Yes what, Mr. Santanez?"
At first, Poppy didn't know what she was asking but then realized she was looking for a total confirmation of her authority, thoughts, and opinions.
This time he looked sheepishly at his inquisitor and said, "Yes, Madam Martina, you are right about everything."
"I thought you would eventually see it my way, Mr. Santanez. What should we do with you, Mr. Santanez?"
"Madam Martina, do whatever you want with me. I was the only person who criticized the government. No one else in my family did anything bad. Please don't penalize them because of my stupidity. I beg of you, Madam Martina."
"Well, Mr. Santanez I have been thinking about your sentencing for some time now. After I watched this recording a few weeks ago, I knew you and possibly some other members of your family were guilty of anti-government thought and sedition. All I needed was to hear you admit your guilt and see how forthcoming and regretful you were. Unfortunately, Mr. Santanez, getting the truth from you was like pulling teeth. And, from what I saw and heard in the past couple of hours you are light years away from being sincerely regretful."
Poppy opened his mouth to say something in his defense, but Martina held up a hand to stop him.
"You've had your say, Mr. Santanez. The only person who needs to speak now is me."
"At first, I thought it might be worth the time and expense to send you to a re-education camp to learn about our wonderful and benevolent government. But, after your background check came back, it was evident you are incapable of changing your opinion about anything. This includes the World Council which protects, houses and feeds you and your family. You, Mr. Santanez, are the perfect example of the old saying, you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Mr. Santanez, I sentence you to spend the rest of your life without a monthly allotment of world credits. Also, the monthly allotment of world credits for the remaining members of your family will be reduced by 25% for the next two years. Be thankful, Mr. Santanez, that I have a weakness for your kind. Goodbye, Mr. Santanez."
Poppy was stunned by the severe penalty. And, she had a weakness for his kind! What the hell did that mean? He debated whether to leap across the desk and beat the living crap out of her or leave like a dog with its tail between its legs. In a split second, he decided to attack the bureaucratic bitch. How much worse could his penalty be if he killed her? He was on a death march now without a stipend of world credits.
As he catapulted out of his chair, something caught him in midair and escorted him from the room. Two large goons had ahold of him by each arm. They dragged him into the street where he was left face down.
How could he be so unlucky in one day? If he had killed her, he would have been locked up and sent away, never to deal with the humiliation of telling his family about the dire future they faced. Now, he had to figure out how to break the news to the family he loved so dearly. The family who he tried to lead with respect and honor. The family which he let down and sentenced to poverty and possible death. They barely scrimped by now on their allocation of world credits. How could they survive with fewer credits?
Inside the government building, Martina looked over to her young trainee. "My dear, that's how you handle anti-government revolutionaries. I feel good with the outcome. Let's go and celebrate."
The younger woman looked at Martina with admiration and said, "That was incredible. I can't wait to ask you a couple of questions about your interviewing techniques."
As the two government interrogators left the building laughing and joking about persecuting another anti-government type, their victim, Poppy Santanez, walked home. About four miles from his destination, he fell to the ground and started to cry. He wept by the side of the road until a truck returning from the Amazon basin stopped and gave him a lift home. The dozen men in the truck were all friends and co-workers he had known for decades.
Poppy crouched in one corner of the truck bed and buried his head in his arms. His co-workers knew he was distraught about something but thought it best to mind their own business. Finally, one of the men couldn't ignore Poppy any longer.
"Poppy, what is wrong, my friend?"
Without looking up, Poppy knew the question was asked by Emmanuel, one of the kindest men in the district.
Poppy didn't want to burden Emmanuel with his problems, but he needed to talk to someone. He didn't expect a solution to his problem but maybe talking with a friend would help in some way.
"I have let my family down, Emmanuel. Because of my inflated ego, I have condemned them to a life of poverty and persecution."
"What do you mean my friend? It can't be as bad as that."
For the next several minutes Poppy explained what happened at the government building. There was no reason to hide or taint any of the facts. The government published a monthly list of condemned revolutionaries like Poppy which detailed their crimes and sentences.
"Emmanuel, they are only little girls. They don't even know what they're doing. The game they invented was a reenactment of something they saw me do. They thought it was funny because they got to eat their brother's BD."
"I know my friend. Many times, life is not fair." After a slight pause, Emmanuel continued. "Poppy, I might be able to help you. Here, I want you to take this card and contact the number listed on it. Will you do that Poppy?"
Poppy looked at the small card. On it, written by hand, was a contact number only. No names or addresses were on it. "Who is this, Emmanuel?"
"A friend, Poppy. Just a friend. He has helped many people with problems like yours. So, promise me that you will contact him."
Poppy stared into Emmanuel's eyes attempting to see beyond what he had already been told about this mysterious friend. The eyes he peered into offered no more clues, so he answered with, "I promise to contact this person, Emmanuel."
That evening, Poppy pretended to be sick and went straight to bed without dinner. He spent hours lying in bed trying to conceive a plan for telling the family about how he got them sentenced to a sub-poverty existence for the next two years. He didn't care about his future. If he died because of no government assistance, so be it. The family would be better off without him. Before he fell asleep, he contacted the number Emmanuel gave him and left a message which consisted of his name, number and a brief description of his plight. "I have been condemned to a life without world credits."
Two days later Poppy had recovered from his fictitious illness and was ready to tell the family about the punishment they faced. He waited until dinner was over and the children were bedded down for the night. As he was ready to bare his soul, there was a knock at the door.
"Poppy, there is a man here to see you."
He didn't know whether to be thankful or not for the interruption. He rose from his chair and meandered to the door expecting more bad news. Standing outside the door was an Asian gentleman who Poppy guessed to be in his fifties or sixties. For his age, he had yet to grow one gray hair among the thick black mane on his head. He was short and stout. Poppy could see by the way he filled out his clothing, the man was familiar with hard work and had a muscular physique to prove it.
"Mr. Santanez, my name is Date Hattori. You left a message for me the other day. I understand that you are in a predicament which I might be able to help you out of. Do you have time to take a walk with me and talk?"
Poppy felt an instant bond to this man. He could tell by the weathered face and rough hands he was a man of the earth like himself. There might be an outside chance this man was a government snitch but the way he carried himself spoke of honor rather than deceit.
"Yes, let's talk, Mr. Date. I'm sorry, I have forgotten your last name already. I've had a lot on my mind lately."
"That's what I've been told, Mr. Santanez. Don't worry about my name. Date is good enough. Get a jacket. It's a little nippy out here tonight."
For the next two hours Date and Poppy walked the dirt roads and alleys of the sma
ll town. It was obvious from the one-story, wood shanties and roving dogs prowling for their next meal, this town was teetering on the brink of economic failure. This area always needed to be economically propped up by the central government. Without an infusion of government make-work programs, it would become a ghost town within a few short months.
By the time they returned to Poppy's home, the future looked brighter for both men. Poppy was the new distributor for Date's cloaking device in his region of the Amazon basin. Over the next two days, Date instructed Poppy on how to use the cloaking device to deceive the government. His step-by-step training was based on his own use of the device. It made the government believe Poppy was an old derelict, cast aside, and living at the mercy of his family and anyone else who would give him hand-outs.
As the distributor, Poppy would provide a needed service and product to rebels, foes of the government and anyone who wanted to drop off the monitoring grid. His income would far exceed what he and the family lost by being penalized for trumped-up charges of sedition against the government.
Before leaving the Amazon, Date attended a family meeting where Poppy explained to his wife, two sons, and their wives what happened during the past week. The family heard how two government compliance officers humiliated, tried and sentenced Poppy to a slow death by eliminating his allocation of world credits. Poppy tried to avoid dragging the granddaughters into the discussion. But it eventually came out that their make-believe game based on the BD incident was the cause of the government investigation.
As expected, the family became very upset when the 25% reduction in their world credits was brought up. The men were aggravated but held their peace until the rest of the story was told. The women were near hysterical knowing a reduction in world credits would be catastrophic. At this point, Date entered the discussion and explained how the loss of world credits was going to be compensated for and exceeded by Poppy's new position. Date avoided being too specific about what Poppy would be doing. The less the family knew the less likely they or the children could divulge sensitive information which might be funneled back to the government.
To convince the family that his plan was legitimate, and their standard of living wouldn't suffer, Date handed over the keys to a home he purchased on the other side of town. This home wasn't only nicer and in a better neighborhood but was fully stocked with a four-month inventory of food. Also, he gave each of the wives a world credit account number under a fictitious name. Each account had enough world credits to easily surpass the 25% they were to be docked by the government in the next two years.
"Mr. Hattori, we don't know what to say." It was one of Poppy's sons expressing his gratitude. "You have saved my father's life and helped the entire family rise above this miscarriage of justice."
"It's been my pleasure."
"I have one question, Mr. Hattori. Why must we move to another home and leave my parents behind?"
"Your father, mother and I have discussed this at length. We feel it is better to separate you from your parents, so you know very little about what your father is doing for me. You still have young children and we don't want to take the chance they might overhear and repeat something which must remain secret. It is for the safety of everyone involved. The only thing you need to do is go on with life as you have in the past. Don't tell anyone what your father is doing and enjoy the extra food and world credits. Remember, the less you say to people outside the family, the safer you will be."
"Are we allowed to see our parents, Mr. Hattori?"
"Yes, but try to keep it to no more than a couple of times a month. When you do, always come to your parent's home. Again, for everyone's safety, your parents are not allowed to visit you in your new home. Do you all understand what is expected of you?"
Everyone around the table nodded in agreement with Date's simple rules. For the rest of the evening, Date joined the Santanez family in a celebration of their future. When he left around midnight, he and Poppy walked outside for five minutes and said their goodbyes.
"Mr. Hattori, I can't tell you enough how you have saved my family. I am so deeply indebted to you. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Date and Poppy gave each other a respectful and manly embrace. When they separated, Date looked at Poppy and said, "Poppy, you don't understand yet the part you are playing in changing the world. One day you'll understand what I am talking about. For now, do everything I taught you and do it with caution and secrecy. Sometime in the future, you might be asked for a favor in return for what I have done for your family. I'm not sure what the favor will be or who will ask it of you, but it will have major consequences and affect many people you will never meet in your lifetime."
"Mr. Hattori, I am your servant. I look forward to paying back my debt to you."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There’s Going to Be One Less Tiger Soon
"Mr. Sun, I have given you my report. There is no more to add. My information is direct from the CEO at Phoenvartis. You can either accept what I have reported or, or… do whatever you want with it. Frankly, I don't care."
"Calm down, Catherine. No one is questioning your information or methods. All I asked was, have you verified the CEO's information with the other mark. I believe he is the head of the ReLife project."
"This is the last time I'm going to say this. The head of the ReLife project, Rollie Sweats, is working around the clock to get the CR47 unit working. I rarely get to see him. When I do, he says about ten words and then falls to sleep. For now, you'll just have to take the CEO's information at face value."
Sophia, known as Catherine to the Black Cross, had no intention of telling Mr. Sun that she suspected Rollie Sweats of withholding information from her. The last couple of times she had seen him produced no additional, new information. And his answers to some of her questions contradicted what Klaus Ekstrom told her.
In addition, her reporter friend at the Beobachter news service was pulled out of the Limmat river after a mysterious disappearance several weeks before. The local police declared his death a suicide, but Sophia knew better. To her, the evidence pointed to a professional hit. It was intended to get rid of a cancerous nuisance who was divulging too much information about the inner workings of Phoenvartis. Whoever was protecting the company from negative publicity had no qualms about using the ultimate penalty of murder.
With one of her contacts suspecting her as a mole, it was only a matter of time before the other contact came to the same realization. When that happened, the game was over. It was now a race to see if she could use the CR47 to clone whoever the Black Cross wanted or meet the same fate as the Beobachter reporter laying in the city morgue. The risk was as high as the potential reward. Unfortunately, there was only one way to collect the huge bonus promised by the Black Cross. She had to continue as a deep mole and hope for the best.
Sophia knew Rollie suspected her as a mole, but she had no idea there were so many others who knew of her deceit. Grandma LeeLee, Raul Hakala, Sedgewick Slice, and Mr. Todd were on to her and waiting for the right time to use this information.
By chance, Raul saw her on a recording entering Rollie's apartment buildings. The doorman at Klaus's apartment then confirmed Raul's suspicions about the girl from the Archives department. Boris Turrick, from the Beobachter, gave Mr. Todd enough information about the Phoenvartis informant to figure out her identity. Slice obtained the leak's identity in some mysterious way. Grandma LeeLee was the only one who knew Sophia was more than a corporate mole. Even though her information about Sophia came from Above, she still felt sorry for this young woman. How could someone so intelligent and beautiful be so consumed with evil to leave a trail of death and destruction everywhere she went?
"So, if I understand you correctly, the CR47 should be up and running very soon. Is that correct, Catherine?"
"Yes, Mr. Sun, that's what I've been saying for the past half hour."
"When do you think we'll be able to use the CR47?"
"To
o soon to know. My best guess is three to four weeks from now. Do you know who you want to clone, Mr. Sun?"
"Yes, Catherine, we have several samples from a host." Catherine found Sun's answer very interesting and revealing. Sun wasn't smart enough to know of the term host, so he must have picked it up from someone with a scientific background. She guessed that the Black Cross must have scientists or consultants with enough knowledge about cloning to use correct terminology. If she hadn't spent so much time with Rollie and Klaus learning about the ReLife project, Sun's response would have been ignored.
She never thought of a couple of DNA samples like a severed finger or skin sample as a host, but the word was a simple and direct description for creating a new living organism. She also found it interesting that Sun had referred to a single host, not multiple hosts. The Black Cross knew exactly who they were going to bring back into this world from the past. If she had to guess, the host was someone from their organization's seedy past. It might be one of their former leaders killed by government troops putting down a minor rebellion somewhere in the world.
"Mr. Sun, I have to go. Be prepared to move on a moment's notice and make sure you have the bonus world credits to pay me. No bonus, no access to the CR47. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, I understand, Catherine. Keep me updated on anything new from your bed buddy, the CEO of Phoenvartis. Goodbye." Mr. Sun disconnected before Sophia had an opportunity to respond to his sarcastic remark with a demeaning salvo of her own.
Krieger sat in his run-down warehouse room, smiling to himself and thinking how clever he was to put a verbal sword into her. He loved agitating her. He could imagine how furious Catherine must be now. Her fiery temper was surely boiling over. He wished he could be in Zurich watching her throw a fit.
"Funny, really funny, Mr. Sun. After this is all over, I'm going to find you and put you where the sun doesn't shine. Pun intended you prick." Sophia was so humiliated and irritated by his comment she was talking out loud to herself. When the anger lessened, she looked around the Archives office to make sure no one had entered without her knowledge. The last thing she needed was for a Phoenvartis employee to stumble into her conversation with Mr. Sun and overhear some of the incriminating things she said to and about him. She made a note to herself never to talk again with Sun on Phoenvartis property. The risk of being exposed as an anti-government sympathizer was too great.