Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  “You son of a bitch,” Anna sobs. “You killed him, and now you are going to kill me too?”

  “Tell me where Jill is. You can live if you tell me where she is.”

  “I DON’T KNOW WHERE SHE IS! THEY DIDN’T TELL ME WHERE THEY WERE TAKING HER I DON’T KNOW GET AWAY FROM ME I DON’T KNOW I DON’T KNOW…”

  “I don’t believe you,” G.W. says, although a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach belies his words. “You’re lying. Tell me.”

  “SOMEBODY, HELP ME! HE’S GOING TO KILL ME! HELP ME!”

  Are they listening? G.W. wonders. Surely Karnaga and his men are crowded into one of the viewing rooms, perhaps the one that he had vacated just moments ago. They’re hanging on to Anna’s every word, they’re cheering him on…

  “They can’t hear you,” G.W. tells her. “I’m the only one who can hear you. Tell me where she is, or you die. Your life for hers. Decide.”

  “Don’t kill me,” Anna says in a hoarse whisper. “I want to live. I’m only seventeen.” The volume of her voice begins to rise again. “Please, I beg you, don’t kill me, let me live, don’t shoot me, I want to live…”

  “It’s your choice. Tell me and live.”

  “DON’T SHOOT ME! DON’T SHOOT ME!”

  “Tell me where she is! Tell me!”

  “DON’T SHOOT ME! I BEG YOU, DON’T KILL ME!”

  “That’s it,” G.W. says dully, defeated. “You had your chance. You’re dead.”

  And he pulls back the hammer. It falls into place with a dull click.

  And he starts to squeeze the trigger.

  And then Anna is shouting hysterically, but not in English. G.W. continues to squeeze the trigger, ever so gently, as if he were in some kind of drugged stupor. Anna is screaming unintelligibly, frantically. G.W. thinks he hears her say ‘Aqevina’ – that’s where we’re staying, he thinks, dazedly, I don’t get it. Did they take Jill back to the house? And then Karnaga bursts into the room, his men trailing behind him, and they’re all smiling, they’re yelling excitedly and urgently among themselves…

  And it dawns on G.W. through his fog that Anna must have told them where Jill was. The plan worked, he thinks dully. I’ve done it. I saved Jill’s life. I can stop squeezing the trigger now.

  But his muscles don’t seem to want to respond quickly enough to the orders of his brain, and his trigger finger continues to contract just a fraction of an inch more, and he feels the hammer begin to release, and he wants to swing the gun away from her head, but he just can’t respond quickly enough…

  …and just as he feels Karnaga’s hand on his shoulder, the hammer falls, but the dreaded roar never comes, all he hears is a feeble metallic click…

  …because, of course, there had been only one cartridge in the cylinder, just as Karnaga had said there would be. Everything has worked according to plan. Just like Karnaga said it would. Just like it was supposed to.

  But G.W. doesn’t feel victorious. He feels numb. He hears Karnaga’s congratulations. He sees Harakeem’s limp body being dragged off. He watches as Anna is untied and led off, weeping. But none of it really registers. It’s all a dream. None of it is real.

  But then J. Stanton Kennedy is standing at the door, and he’s very real indeed. G.W. can see him clearly over the heads of the shorter men who mill around in frantic activity. Kennedy’s face is as white as a sheet. His eyes lock on to G.W.’s. He looks so defeated, so old. His shoulders are stooped and sagging. His eyes are wide with horror. He stares at G.W. over a chasm that’s infinitely wider than the physical distance that separates them.

  Kennedy’s lips move, but G.W. can’t hear him over the confusion, or perhaps he’s not speaking out loud at all. But G.W. can read his lips just as clearly as if he were shouting.

  And what Kennedy is saying, over and over again, is: Oh my dear God, G.W., what have you done? What have you done?

  What have you done?

  Transition

  Book 5: Struggle

  Part 3:

  The Response

  5.3.1: Aqevina

  “…and I am afraid that I still do not understand. Perhaps I am a slow learner, yes? You Americans believe that all foreigners are stupid, and perhaps you are right.”

  “Then it is we Americans who are stupid,” Sunshine insists. “You’re a genius. I have known that ever since I first heard about you and your father.”

  Despite the transparent flattery, Akaso Siko is visibly pleased. “Yes,” he nods, agreeing with what he obviously considers to be an unusually perceptive assessment of himself. “But you are an American yourself. How is it that you alone of all your countrymen has been able to understand the truth about me? This is remarkable, especially in light of the fact that your government continues to spread slanderous lies about my father years after his murder.”

  “Not all of us are so easily deceived.” Sunshine smiles. Are all people this easy to fool? she wonders. All I did was to say a few nice words about him. And although he’s still a little suspicious, I get the feeling that he’s ready to believe anything I tell him.

  What an ego.

  This is going to be easy.

  Akaso lounges back against the wall and stares up at Sunshine, who stands in front of the cushion on which he sits. “Yes,” he says, waving her statement away as inconsequential. “Yes, but how did you know about me? Certainly, my father’s story is well known. But I, personally, am not what you might call a ‘household word’ in the United States. And as I understand that you are not especially interested in politics…”

  Akaso nearly bites his tongue in his effort to stop speaking in mid-sentence, and Sunshine smiles. Are all people so easy to read? she wonders. Or is Akaso just incredibly shallow? Like his pathetic refusal to invite me to sit, even though there’s an extra cushion on the floor right next to him. Obviously, it makes him feel that he has some kind of advantage if he’s comfortable and I’m not. And the way he acts like he’s suspicious, like he’s probing for more information, when all he really wants is for me to talk about him some more: what I know about him, how I found out about him, what I think of him… He’ll go along with anything I say just as long as I continue to flatter him.

  And now he’s revealed that he knows something about me, something that he must have learned from someone who knows me. From the way he clammed up, I’d say that he doesn’t want me to know that Nathan’s the one who set me up. I guess that’s supposed to be a secret.

  If he had kept talking, I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything. By stopping so abruptly, he only called my attention to it.

  Not only is he an incredible egotist, he’s an incredibly inept liar.

  Why I’m even a better liar than he is.

  And I’ve only been doing it for half an hour.

  “Not interested in politics?” Sunshine tries to sound surprised, and even a little wounded. “Who would tell you a thing like that?”

  Akaso shrugs. “I have my sources. In fact,” he says, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I have at my disposal an enormous network of freedom-fighters all over the world. I know more about you than you can possibly imagine. But I still don’t understand how you know – or, shall we say, how you claim to know – so much about me.”

  He’s still trying to impress me, Sunshine thinks, with amazement. He’s so incredibly insecure. It’s not enough that he had me drugged and kidnapped and brought here by men with automatic weapons. He still feels a need to impress me with how important he is.

  And why is he trying to shield Nathan from me? Is it just one more thing for him to feel superior about? That he knows something that I don’t? Or is it more than that?

  Okay, let’s figure this out…

  If I knew that Nathan set me up, then I could tell the police, and Nathan would be in trouble. But only if Jill and I get out of this alive. So that’s a good sign: He expects me and Jill to be free someday. He doesn’t plan to kill us.

  But why would he care if Nathan gets in trouble? He certain
ly doesn’t strike me as someone who gives a damn about what happens to anybody else.

  But if Nathan is implicated, and if he gets questioned by the police, then he might be able to reveal things about Akaso’s organization, things that Akaso wouldn’t want the authorities to know. So if I know that Nathan’s involved, then it’s not so much that I could make trouble for Nathan, it’s that I could, indirectly, make trouble for Akaso. That’s what he’s worried about.

  But let’s follow this through.

  If Akaso knows that I know that Nathan knows, then either he’s got to make sure that I’m never able to talk to the police (which would mean that he’d have to kill me – and, like Jill said, that may not be in his plans) or he’d have to make sure that Nathan would never talk, even if the police knew he was involved.

  So if Akaso were to find out that I knew about Nathan, then Nathan might be in serious trouble.

  “… to a word I’m saying?”

  “Oh, my, I’m sorry.” What has Akaso been saying? How long have I been standing here, oblivious, thinking my own devious thoughts? “I was just so upset that someone would tell you that I wasn’t interested in politics. I probably don’t know as much about it as I should,” she says, trying to sound abashed, “but I’ve always had the greatest admiration for freedom-fighters everywhere.” Is that laying it on too thick?

  Akaso grunts, apparently unconvinced.

  He’s annoyed, Sunshine realizes, that I missed some of his precious words of wisdom. I have to do something to soothe him. Or to distract him…

  And suddenly, like fireworks exploding in her brain, inspiration strikes.

  “In fact,” she continues, “ever since Nathan told me that he had arranged for you to… to capture me and Jill, I’ve been so excited about getting to meet you that I could hardly…”

  “Nathan told you… Wait, what?” Even in the dim light of the candles that barely manage to illuminate the room, Sunshine can see that Akaso is stunned. “I… I don’t understand what it is that you are saying.”

  What a terrible recovery, Sunshine thinks, almost giggling at Akaso’s sudden panic.

  “Oh, you know. I mean, I’ve known about your father for such a long time. And when Nathan told me that I’d actually get a chance to meet you – well, I was just beside myself. I’ve never met anyone like you before… not that there is anyone like you, of course. I mean… Listen, Akaso, would it be okay if I sat down? My feet are getting awfully tired.” And these heels are killing me, she thinks. How do women actually walk around in these things all day long?

  Akaso merely stares back at her, open-mouthed. I’ve blown his mind, Sunshine realizes. He doesn’t know what to think.

  And indeed, Akaso does seem to be frozen in mid-thought. His mouth opens and closes slowly a few times as if he were an enormous guppy. He starts to speak, then stops. He swallows so hard that his larynx bobs up and down like a float on a fishing line. Then his mouth opens and closes a few more times. Then he starts to speak again. Then he swallows hard once more.

  And only then does he speak. “Forgive my rudeness,” he croaks. “Please sit.”

  There’s another long pause as Sunshine kicks off her shoes and settles in on the cushion beside him.

  “It is good that you ask to sit,” Akaso finally says. “It is good that you did not merely assume that you had permission. Most American women do as they please. That is not the way it is in Qen Phon. The women of my country know their place. They know that they are helpmates for men. American women think they are the equals of men,” he adds, scornfully. “They have emasculated American men, who are no longer men at all.”

  Is this guy for real? Sunshine wonders. Is this some kind of test? Is he trying to see how I’ll react? Or is he just stalling for time to collect his thoughts?

  “I know what you mean,” Sunshine sympathizes. “Most American men are such wimps. That’s why I was so excited when Nathan told me I’d have the chance to be with a real man.”

  “This ‘Nathan’ you keep speaking of.” Akaso makes a dismal attempt at looking puzzled. “Is he someone that I should be familiar with?”

  “Oh, Akaso, you can trust me.” Sunshine tries to sound hurt. “I’ve known about this whole deal for…” – weeks? but what if the plot was only hatched a few days ago? – “…for just about as long as Nathan has, I guess. He had to tell me, it was the only way that he could be sure that I’d have Jill in the right place at the right time.”

  “He was supposed to tell no one,” Akaso hisses.

  Sunshine shrugs. “Well,” she says, with a knowing smile, “he’s not exactly what you’d call the most reliable person in the world, you know.”

  While Akaso ponders the implications of this new information, Sunshine glances around the room, which seems to have served as a library or a study. The paneled walls are lined with shelves. Some books are still standing in neat rows, others are stacked in piles on the shelves, still others are tossed about haphazardly on the thickly carpeted floor. A large, handsome desk stands against one wall in front of the room’s lone window, which now is boarded over with a patchwork of plywood and two-by-fours. A high-backed chair looks out into the room from behind the desk. Two similar chairs stand in front of the desk, facing it. The surface of the desk is clear except for three tall candles that are dripping beads of wax down their wine-bottle bases. With the exception of several large cushions, like those on which she and Akaso are seated, the room is devoid of furniture.

  Is he going to say anything? Sunshine wonders. Or have I given him so much to think about that I’ve paralyzed him?

  But finally, Akaso calls out a few words in a language that Sunshine does not understand. In a few seconds, the guard opens the door and peers in. Akaso barks out a few orders; the guard nods and leaves. Although Sunshine doesn’t understand Akaso’s instructions, she’s pleased to notice that he speaks Nathan’s name several times.

  Good, she thinks, with some satisfaction. Maybe I’ve gotten Nathan into some trouble. Maybe Akaso ordered him shot! No, more likely, he just told the guard to keep an eye on him.

  Wait a minute, Sunshine thinks, abruptly, what’s happening to me? I’m actually disappointed that Nathan’s not going to be murdered? How could I have become so bloodthirsty all of a sudden? After all, he may have deceived me, but he doesn’t deserve to die.

  Or does he?

  I’ll think about that later.

  “Please excuse the interruption,” Akaso says. He smiles brightly at Sunshine, apparently assuring her that everything is under control. “Now, then, where were we?”

  “I was just telling you how excited I was when I found out I was going to be with you,” Sunshine enthuses. “That’s why I was so… so devastated when Sammy said that you wanted Jill instead of me.” She pouts. “I told Sammy that he must have misunderstood you. I assumed that Nathan had told you all about me, about how eager I was to meet you. I knew that you were too much of a gentleman to insult me like that on purpose.”

  Akaso stares back at her, blinking. He’s not sure if he should admit to me that Nathan didn’t say anything about me, Sunshine thinks. To her surprise, she realizes that she’s enjoying the game. It’s not going to be so bad, she tells herself. Like I said to Jill: I’ve slept with people I wasn’t crazy about before. Doing it one more time won’t kill me.

  His face is a little thin, his nose is a little, long, his eyes are just a touch too close together. But it all adds up to… well, character, not ugliness. He has a certain air of mystery, of intrigue, about him. All in all, he’s not that hard to look at.

  Of course, it is pretty dark in here. And I haven’t been that close to him yet.

  And, of course, he is an asshole.

  Sunshine giggles to herself, almost out loud. I don’t think I’ve ever used that word, even to myself. But it does apply to Akaso. He’s so impressed with his own importance, so transparently insecure, so dogmatically insistent on his superiority… He’s an asshole. That’s all there
is to it.

  I’m going to make love to an asshole.

  Oh, well, I’m sure I’ve made love to lots of assholes before.

  Take Nathan, for example…

  “You must forgive me,” Akaso says, spreading his hands wide in supplication. He smiles in a strange manner that Sunshine assumes is supposed to be disarming, but which actually comes across as creepy. “However, I am afraid that Nathan never mentioned your interest in me. Why do suppose that might be?”

  “Oh, gosh.” Sunshine shrugs as if she’s puzzled. “I don’t know. Unless it was just jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Sure. He probably wanted to keep me all to himself. He didn’t want to share me with you. He gets real possessive like that sometimes, the son-of-a-bitch.”

  Son-of-a-bitch! Wow, Sunshine thinks, surprised. That may be the first “bad” word I’ve ever said out loud in my whole life!

  “He told me,” Akaso says, his smile widening, “that you were quiet, demure, soft-spoken. ‘Afraid of your own shadow,’ is I believe what he said. However, I can see that is not the case.”

  Afraid of my own shadow! Why that… that…

  Calm down. Smile. Think about it later.

  “He’s just a little boy, sometimes,” Sunshine says, apologetically. “But let’s not talk about Nathan. Tell me more about yourself.”

  Akaso shrugs. “There is little to tell.”

  “Nonsense. Don’t be so modest.”

  And with little urging, Akaso Siko tells Sunshine O’Malley the story of his life, from his uneventful childhood, to his father’s murder, to his harrowing escape to the United States, to his lonely and unfulfilling life as a student at SMU, to his clandestine return to his homeland. Sunshine sits in seemingly rapt attention, although she quickly realizes that Akaso is a terrible storyteller, and at times she’s hard-pressed to keep her eyes open.

  Well, good, Sunshine thinks, as she senses that Akaso is finally winding down. That killed at least half an hour. And isn’t that what this is all about? Stalling? Postponing the time that he’ll send for Jill again? Postponing the time…