The Zondon: Terrorists and Aliens (an International Suspense Thriller)

by RobCharters

  But that wasn't it, Ernie thought again. There was something about him. He was sure his reasons for wanting her went far deeper than that.

  Ernie had never though of himself as having a strong stable mind, especially when his brother Eddie repeatedly told him otherwise. But he was sure that anyone with a weaker mind than his own would have buckled at the doctor's looks and his Jedi like hypnosis, and would be on the phone to him the first thing the next morning.

  Now here he was with his favourite food in front of him, but not in a mood to eat it.

  The peace of the river was broken by the boom boom boom of a double-decker party boat with disco lights flashing. It passed, and then the waves from its wake began to lap the side of the veranda.

  The boom boom boom faded out, but now Ernie heard another sound. It was a humming coming from his pocket.

  He immediately got up and went out as though having to answer a mobile phone without bothering the other diners.

  Upstairs in his room, he took the glowing crystal from his pocket, placed it on his forehead, and immediately knew what he had to do.

  He was off -- except he didn't use the door. He went directly through the roof, bodiless.

  Like a bolt of lightning, he sped straight across the city towards the tall three-sided building across from the park, with the spire on top -- Dusit Thani Hotel. He came down directly on the roof and through several floors until he reached the seventh. Then he found the door to room 733.

  After a slight pause, he went through the door, and looked.

  What he saw was a being consisting of an outer shell of a human, Dr. Stanovitch, but animated by, not one, but two zoetron fields: one that should have formed his nucleus -- the imprint matched the DNA -- and a foreign one that was actually in control. The native life forcefield had become a prisoner of the foreign.

  The foreign life forcefield, Phondesh realised, was what had given off the aura of evil that he had sensed earlier. In fact, it wasn't Dr. Stanovitch at all.

  The outer shell of Dr. Stanovitch turned in his seat, as though sensing that something was amiss.

  He looked about the room for a few seconds, and then back to his lap top computer.

  But the nucleus of Dr. Stanovitch, his real zoetron forcefield, looked as though it were silently calling out for help, and aware of Phondesh's presence.

  Help me! I'm in a prison!

  Phondesh felt moved inside.

  Help will come. I'll find some way to get you free, said Phondesh, in the language understood by human energy force.

  The soul of the doctor began to respond, but suddenly, it was squelched.

  The Glaat was now in full control. The doctor spun about, and began to look frantically at different points of the room, until finally he sat staring straight at the spot where Phondesh was hovering.

  Phondesh stayed still, letting out no vibes nor anything that would give away his presence.

  Dr. Stanovitch sat there staring. There was no essence released, no aura that wasn't there already, no Jedi tricks -- if anything, it was a fear of whatever was in that room with him.

  Suddenly he turned and reached for a telephone, and began dialling a number. Ernie knew immediately it was May Lin's.

  Phondesh made a dash for the phone and entered the telecom system. He could readily recognise each component. It was extremely primitive, and this would be an ideal situation.

  May Lin's voice came from the direction ahead of him, as electrical impulses. He easily deciphered them.

  'Hello?'

  From the direction behind him came, first, an aura of seductive control. Phondesh dispersed that right away. Then, came the voice, that intended to say, 'Hello, Zhondri. Nicolai here.'

  Phondesh rearranged the electrical impulses to sound like his own voice: 'Hi, May Lin, Ernie here.'

  'Hello, Ernie,' was rearranged to 'Hello Doctor,' on the return circuit.

  Then, 'I have a proposition for you that I think you will like,' was rearranged to, 'I need to speak to you about the doctor, and about the name, "Zhondri".'

  'Oh!'

  That didn't need rearranging.

  Then, the forceful, 'Meet me in half an hour at the Bubbles Lounge in the Dusit,' was transformed to a more polite, 'Could you meet me at the Hard Rock Cafe in about half an hour?'

  The answer was affirmative. Both sides hung up, and Phondesh was off at the speed of light for the guesthouse.

  Chapter 12

  The crystal fell into his waiting hand just as Ernie was barely aware of being back in his own body.

  Now he'd revert to a different form of transport, albeit more primitive. He grabbed his shoulder bag, locked his door, rushed down the stairs and went out the front entrance.

  The guesthouse shared its parking lot with the export company next door who used it as an offloading area for goods to be shipped down the river. The air smelled of dried peppers and cardamom.

  Ernie quickly crossed the small street.

  Just then, along came a man on a motorbike wearing bright coloured vest -- a motorcycle taxi.

  Ernie flagged him down, and said 'Siam Sa-quae, tao rai' (meaning 'How much to Siam Square?')

  The motorcyclist gave a price he could agree on, and he hopped on the back.

  In a neighbourhood full of one-way streets and heavy traffic, a motorcycle was the ideal way to travel and probably the only hope of arriving at Siam Square within half an hour.

  He got off across from his destination, crossed via the pedestrian bridge, and then retraced the path he had taken earlier that day, until he came to the Hard Rock Cafe on the right.

  He went in and asked the hostess if a Malaysian lady had arrived yet. The answer was negative, so he asked for a seat near the door.

  Even apart from the whole business with the crystal, Ernie looked forward to May Lin's arrival. In a way, he couldn't have hoped for a better set up. What other excuse could he possibly find to approach such a pleasant attractive lady and ask her out?

  Presently, she arrived, and he motioned to her. They asked the waitress to take them to a more private booth. She found them one just below a Rolling Stone cover picture of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. They ordered drinks and the waitress was off.

  'It's weird lah, you call just when you did,' she said.

  'Why's that?'

  'I dozed off, and I had a dream, you know? It was uncanny one! But tell me about the doctor la!'

  'I think I should start with the word, "Zhondri",' began Ernie, but he changed track. 'First, I want to show you something.'

  He pulled the crystal out of his pocket. It glistened in the light of the booth, not giving out any of its own light.

  'Wah! That's a big stone!' was May Lin's response.

  'You didn't ever, by any chance, dream about a stone like this, did you?'

  'I dreamed about a crystal that was shining blue and green, and then you called -- and -- yeah, it did look like this one, except it glowed.'

  'This one will probably start glowing, if you say, "Vratzan Ghish Zhondri",' said Ernie.

  'This really really strange la! I also dreamed you said that!'

  'Have you ever had any other dreams like this?'

  'Yes, la. Last week I dream about you, only you weren't human,' said May Lin. 'You were named, ah - ah - what's that other word you say this afternoon leh?'

  'Phondesh.'

  'Yes. You were Phondesh, and you weren't human -- like E.T. or Yoda one but more like - ah ...'

  'But how did you know it was me?' asked Ernie. 'We only met today!'

  Apparently, the logic of it hadn't had time to sink in.

  'In the dream just now, I know that you and Phondesh are same.'

  The attention went back to the crystal. May Lin picked it up, and then said it.

  'Vratzan Ghish Zhondri.'

  The crystal gradually began to hum, and then to glow.

  'Look into the flat side of it.'

  May Lin began looking.

 
After a while, she put it on her forehead.

  Ernie could see remembrance returning to her face.

  They sat in silence, as Ernie had a strange sensation of sitting with nothing but his mortal human senses, while his companion was feeling out her immortality.

  Then, that was overtaken by a different one -- one of sitting with an old friend he had known well for ages, since long before arriving on Earth. This was no strange girl from Malaysia. This was Sister Zhondri of the Amieroo.

  Suddenly, Ernie realised that he was fully functional in his extended Zondon senses, even without the crystal on his forehead.

  Phondesh could pick up the message from across the table:

  The more there were of them together; the sharper their Zondon senses. The one with the crystal could share the extended state. However, the viewing of matter as it would be seen through a Zondon eye could only be done from the crystal itself, but all can share the view. Interdependence would be important, because each would have unique abilities that the whole will need.

  The next Zondon they needed to find and awaken was Tsav. He was the most cautious of the seven, therefore the last to find human parents. He was twelve years old and living in Afghanistan.

  There was no time to waste, because the Glaat would shortly realise he has been tricked and would soon move with full force. Right now they were not yet strong enough to meet him head on.

  Did I not face him just tonight? Phondesh wondered.

  Suddenly, he knew that had the Glaat located his presence in the room with him, he could have blasted him to the opposite end of the galaxy, and then found his body and destroyed it before he could get back. The mission would have been lost.

  How can we hope to resist him in the future then?

  Through wisdom.

  It was wisdom to keeping silent while in the room with the Glaat. Wisdom could come through the crystal, or through their inherent Zondon senses, and even, at times through their human. It could thus also come through other humans, just as it came through Abdul.

  Abdul also knows me, though in a different way, the crystal seemed to be saying.

  But, aren't you just a crystal? The exchange between Ernie's mind and the crystal was verging on being a dialogue.

  No. I only speak to you through the crystal.

  Who are you then?

  I am Wisdom. The crystal is only one of the ways of hearing me.

  Then, as the colours dimmed, Ernie and May Lin were left with the strong impression that they must leave for the airport immediately, and depart for Pakistan.

  Both Ernie and May Lin had their passports with them, so they paid the bill and were off.

  * * *

  Nicolai Stanovitch had ordered a drink, but it sat untouched. He needed his mind thoroughly unaltered by any substance whatsoever. Or, to be more precise, Dosh of Asvork needed it.

  Something was wrong.

  He knew it ever since feeling the presence in the room with him. Something was also wrong with the phone call.

  It was no coincidence then that the other Zondon -- that one, Ernest Magawan -- had suddenly appeared on the scene. It was more than just a subliminal magnetic attraction of one energy force to a kindred one -- the same as had enabled Dosh to find the first four Zondon. The Magawan creature had obviously been awakened to his identity and knew what he was doing.

  Now he had stolen Zhondri from him, and had awakened her to her Zondon identity. Dosh could feel it in the cosmos (in Star Wars it would have been called a 'disturbance in the force').

  He hated himself for not having been on his guard all along. Had he remained tuned in to his senses, he surely could have been alerted to the awakening of the other Zondon. He would have moved quicker to make the conquest of Zhondri.

  Dosh would never be caught off his guard again.

  Now, the two must be destroyed at all cost lest they find the remaining two, and then return to steal the three already in Dosh's power.

  He reached for his mobile phone. From the menu, pulled up the number of his friend at the Criminal Investigation Division.

  '...that's right, two suspected terrorists,' he was saying, once he had come to the point. 'Their names are Ernest Magawan, male European, probably Irish or British, and Tan May Lin, female, Malaysian. I would advise alerting Don Muang immigration. They may attempt to leave the country.'

  Part II - The Terrorists

  Chapter 13

  Ibrahim once said to his mama, 'I travelled passed lots and lots of stars, and I passed the moon, and then I went through many mountains and valleys, and searched village after villages so I could be born to you and Papa.'

  His mama never forgot those words, and often exclaimed, 'Ai! My firstborn with his head in the stars, and his twin, the mullah!'

  Ibrahim also remembered having said it though he forgot why. It was something more than just wild imagination. Was it a dream? Surely one doesn't remember the path one took to be born!

  As for his twin, Ismael was indeed as zealous as a mullah.

  But the word, 'mullah', coming from Mama and Papa, was not a flattering designation -- any more than 'head in the stars'. Mullahs in Afghanistan are known more for their religious zeal than their sage wisdom.

  Papa's complaint was that every time there was a political upheaval or a crises of any sort, the mullahs would cry, 'Jihad!' That call had gone up so often, said Papa, that no one knew any more what Jihad means.

  Another of Papa's comments that Ibrahim remembered well was, 'So much evil is done in the name of good.'

  Although he was the last to acknowledge it, Sayed Zalman was not your average rural farmer. He had taken advantage of every opportunity that came his way to learn more about the world, about Allah, and what He expects of us. Not that those opportunities came often, but multiply that by all the times he actually applied what he had learned, by how often they shared their meals with a total stranger, or assisted a destitute family. That's what marked him out as a different sort of man.

  His eldest son, Ibrahim took after him. He was quiet and listened a lot. Sometimes he would think and dream. That also earned him his mother's jibes about having his head in the stars. But his papa recognised in him, a thinking and enquiring mind that would take him far in the world. Pappa was Ibrahim's best friend.

  Ismael, his twin, was a different sort. He was bent on Jihad. That's to say, he was all for going to war with the evil Americans and the Zionists. If he couldn't have a real weapon, he used a tree-branch shaped like a Kalashanikov. He practised shooting the president of United States, and the prime minister of Israel. He did all the manoeuvres he saw in the videos at Haji Masood's house, by crawling along the garden fence and then suddenly pouncing over it and shooting everything in sight. He even rehearsed dying and going straight to heaven to be with Allah.

  But Papa was always trying to point out what people tend to forget: Jihad begins with the soul. It's the inner struggle to conform with Allah's will, which must give birth to the outer Jihad, of which doing warfare with the infidels is only a small part. Without that, good intentions would only lead to ultimate evil. Yet, as Papa noticed, people who had not conquered their inner selves, were constantly going off to the wars with the words, 'Allah Aqbar', loud on their lips.

  'It's the times we live in,' Papa would say. 'Nothing is as it used to be.'

  In the old days, before Ibrahim and Ismael were born, it was a normal existence. The winters would be spent near Kabul, and life there would revolve around the national culture. Some of their relatives lived permanently in Kabul, and they'd often stay with them for long stretches while the young ones went to school. Then, in the spring and summer, they would move with the flocks to the highlands, where they would shear and pasture the sheep, tend their orchards, harvest the fruit, and then prune the trees for the following year. That was the time of growing and earning the resources and cash that they would spend during the cold winter months back in the lowlands.

  Then the changes
came, beginning with the Soviet invasion. At first, it was something they could live with -- or at least the Soviets seemed to be able to live with the annual migrations to and from the highlands. But then, as the countryside became a hotbed of rebellion -- again, 'Jihad' was the rousing cry -- it became necessary to stay put, either in areas firmly under Soviet control, or well outside their sphere of influence with the jihad warriors.

  They chose to stay near Kabul. Papa was able to tend his sheep somewhat, but soon the local pastures became overgrazed. He began having to sell them a few at a time until finally, he had no flocks left.

  Yet, Papa considered his family fortunate. In other parts of the country, people had lost their entire flocks with no one to buy them, and had to flee to the refugee camps in Pakistan with no more than they could carry. At least Papa was able to find work through his cousins in the city.

  It was near Kabul that the twins were born, and there, while living with Uncle Anwar, that they began their education.

  A few years after the Soviets withdrew, while the twins were in school, Papa began looking into the prospects of starting a new flock of sheep. First, he and Mama would take a trip to the highlands to see their long abandoned orchards. By beginning to cultivate the fruit trees, and doing any necessary pruning, he could sell some fruit the following year and perhaps begin to buy sheep. Papa looked forward to being able to help needy travellers on their way like he used to do.

  At first, he was going to take the twins along, but his brother-in-law, Anwar, persuaded him to think of their education, so it was decided that they would stay with their uncle. Seeing his parents off that day was the last Ibrahim saw of his best friend and father.

  Perhaps, for a thinker like Ibrahim to be constantly around one so understanding, isn't a good thing. One is sheltered form the harshness of the non-thinking world. Now he had only the chiding of Uncle Anwar, the chastising of his teacher and the ridicule of Ismael and his school mates, without the shelter and comfort of Papa.

  A month after Papa and Mama departed for the highlands, the fighting between the government forces and the Taliban cut them off. Later, Kabul came under Taliban control, and life changed yet again. Ibrahim could only guess what his father would say about the changes now.