The Hundred Gram Mission

by Navin Weeraratne

  "How long are you here for? You must go to see the Maligawa in Kandy, the Temple of the Tooth Relic. Everyday, so many thousands of pilgrims go, from all over the world."

  The phone beeped again. Wise men prepare nets.

  "Mister, let’s talk again later," said Chow.

  "Of course, of course! My name is Mervyn. I’ll give you my number. I can introduce you to the head priest of the Ratnagama temple, he’s a good friend of mine. I knew him at College! He only became a Buddhist priest, later."

  "Later," said Chow.

  "Ah here, if you give me your number, I can give you a missed call. You don’t have these phone implants in Vietnam? Terrible things men, all these international school children have started using them."

  "Just go!" Chow turned and glared.

  "I’m sorry?"

  "Fuck off!"

  "That girl," Private He Liao’s lip curled. "She’s beyond throwing herself at him."

  She and Lee sat at a wooden table on the grassy terrace. Most of the tables were occupied, especially those closest to the sea wall. Lanterns lit beer mugs and plates of steaming seafood. Five tables away sat Private Daquan Huang and Corporal Keung Zhu. They carefully avoided eye contact and sipped sodas. Three tables away, sat a well-dressed man and blonde in a black dress and endless legs. The blonde threw her head back and laughed at something he said. She swished her red wine.

  "It’s disgusting."

  "Russian. Skimpy dress. Five star hotel. She’s almost certainly a hooker," said Lee, pretending to look at the drinks menu. "She looks expensive."

  Liao snorted. "Now if I had gone shopping for some heels and a dress this morning, I’d be the at the table right now. But someone didn’t think that would be a good use of my time. Didn’t she?"

  "She still doesn’t. There are some things even I wouldn’t ask of a brave daughter of the Revolution."

  Liao sipped her drink and studied Al-Moussawi.

  "Try to relax," said Lee.

  "It’s hard."

  "I know. But in a few hours this will be over."

  "You’re definitely doing it tonight?"

  "Why not? Everything is in place. We’re ready. He’s here. The only complication is the hooker."

  "A witness?"

  "That too, but people are going to notice us dragging him away, in any case. She’ll scream."

  "We can shoot her."

  "No shooting unless we must."

  The Russian laughed loudly again. She fished the olive out of Al-Moussawi’s martini, and threw it at him. She squealed as he threw it back, aiming for her cleavage.

  "Oh for fuck’s sake. I must kill her."

  "Easy Tigress. We do need to find a way to get her away from him. For the whole night."

  Minutes later, the blonde got up and left the terrace.

  "She’s going to the bathroom," Liao got up. "I’ve got this."

  Liao grabbed the yellow "Cleaning in Progress" sign from outside the men’s room. She put it down outside the ladies’, and stepped inside.

  The Russian girl was touching up her eye liner by the sinks. She gave Liao a glance and went back to the mirror. Liao saw no one else.

  "Excuse me," Liao smiled with shy English, and stepped forward. "My phone broken. I borrow phone?"

  The Russian girl regarded her for a few moments, then went back to her make up.

  "Please, urgent. Borrow phone? One minute only."

  "Fuck off," the Russian snarled.

  Liao stepped up, and slammed the girl’s face into the mirror. It spider webbed, the Russian howled. Then she held her face and bent over. Liao grabbed her head, and kneed her in the face. The Russian screamed and tumbled to the floor. Liao drew her pistol and aimed.

  "Stay down," she said in Russian. "Or I’ll give you a third eye."

  With her other hand, she upended the Russian’s purse by the sink. Her phone shook out, and a pile of currency and papers. Liao pocketed the phone. Then she rooted through the papers, and took the Russian’s passport.

  "Listen Olga Filipov. I know who you are. I’ll check your phone’s registry, and I’ll know where you live. You’re going to leave the hotel at once, and you’re not going to come back tonight. If you do, I’ll kill you. If you tell anyone what happened here, I’ll kill you. Do you understand Olga?"

  "Y-yes," stammered the weeping Russian. Her face was red, her nose and fingers much, much, redder.

  "But you can come back, tomorrow morning. Your phone will be at the reception. Along with your passport and a thousand dollars. Alright Olga? Do you understand?"

  "I understand."

  Liao pulled some paper towels from the dispenser, and tossed them on the bleeding girl’s lap.

  "Now get up and get out."

  Faisal Al-Moussawi glared at the empty seat. He took a bite of hot buttered cuttlefish, but suddenly it seemed stale.

  His phone chimed.

  Sorry bebe I have 2 run but I come bak very soon. I bring my 2 sexxxy Chinese GF, bebe. Moar for yu tonight! I cant wait xxxxxxx

  Is everything alright? I called but you didn’t answer.

  Sorry bebe, Im fine ok. I come back 1 hour?

  Alright. You have Chinese girlfriends? I didn’t meet them last night.

  Yes!!!! Very sexy u will luv :P !!! They come little early. You sit table nearest to sea? Then they know its u, sexy sexy boy. They go sit u.

  Alright.

  You will luv my sexxxy Chinese. The short one, she much pretty than me.

  Galle Face Hotel, 9:42pm

  "Is everything alright Sir?"

  Stockwell looked up at the bartender, as if first hearing the English language.

  "Oh, gosh yes," he laughed. "Why? Do I look okay? I look okay, right? No sudden tropical allergic reactions or anything?"

  "No, no Sir. You were just saying something about it being your shift."

  "Sorry, I’m just – in my own world. Could I get another one of these?"

  The bartender smiled and turned away. Stockwell grinned feebly, looked about quickly, and then settled back in.

  Directly across from him, at the sea wall, was Al-Moussawi. He checked his phone from time to time, but seemed otherwise relaxed. Stockwell looked up: the half moon was quite bright. It painted the tips of the black waves in silver.

  He looked across the terrace. Knowing whom to spot, the operators stood out like big game predators. Zhu and Huang seemed relaxed. They chatted, laughed, but never finishing their drinks. Lee and Liao were buried in their phones, hardly even looking at each other.

  I have as much idea what happens next, as Moussawi does.

  Kollupitiya, Liberty Plaza,"Cleopatra," 9:56pm

  "Who did this to you? Who the fuck did this?!"

  No one stopped or turned down the music in the basement karaoke. It was dark except for the bar, and red-blue mood lighting. The Hindi-pop bass shook people’s insides. A group of hostesses sat idly on couches. The perked up when they saw her, eyes wide, breaking into gossip. The Schadenfreude of bored islanders is boundless.

  "Chinese gang," sobbed Olga. "They beat me with gun. Say Goll Face is their turf now. No Russians work there now."

  One of the men gasped.

  Someone handed her paper towels from the bathroom dispenser. She wiped the dried blood from under her nose. "Chinese bitch, she say your name."

  "My name?" asked the potbelly in the center. Gold teeth gleamed. Apple-scented perfume had been crop dusted over a sweaty shirt.

  "Yes, Sudu Kolla[lii], she say your name. She say she want kill you. With her own pistol, tok," she fired her finger at his forehead. "She said you take your Russians, go to Kandy, Jaffna. Not come back Colombo. You stay, she said she cutting your balls."

  "Where is this fucking bitch?" demanded Sudu Kolla.

  "Benjamin Franklin," asked Sun Tzu, "What’s that you’re looking at?"

  Ben Franklin lay on the grass, stocking feet in the air, glasses on his nose. Rows of lenses telescoped from them, like a steam punk jewelers’ lo
upe. He squinted through them at paper, mounted on his microscope. The numbers and plots swirled together and glowed into stars.

  "Wow," he replied without looking up. Sun Tzu turned into a blue, coiling dragon, and hopped across the Atlantic. He landed by Franklin and changed back, bearing a pot of tea.

  "Wow?" he changed poured a steaming clay cup.

  "The Wow Signal.[liii] In 1977, SETI researchers picked up a powerful signal. It was a continuous and of extra terrestrial origin. Some have suggested it was reflected from Earth. However, no Earth-based transmitter would have been powerful enough. It was never detected again."

  "Where did it come from?"

  "Somewhere in Chi Sagittarii. The nearest star of which is 220 light years away." He looked up suddenly, full of wonder. "Will you help me find it?"

  Sun Tzu looked down and shook his head. "They have work for me today. I must cripple a country. But, only for a bit."

  Ben Franklin sat up and took the tea cup. He stacked the Library of Congress beside him and used it as a coaster.

  "Is it necessary?" he asked. "There never was a good war, or a bad peace."

  "No, it isn’t really. But they want me to test myself, to find out what I can do."

  "And can you do it?"

  "Yes, but I mustn’t make it seem easy. Else, I will frighten them."

  "Strong enough to please, weak enough to reassure. Such tiresome lives we lead at the apex of humanity."

  "But not without hope or dividend. Once we have steered our peoples away from ruin, we shall be in saner times. Then, I shall call you ‘friend’."

  "I prefer the certainty of the present, Sun Tzu. And we can do more as confederates than as friends." He looked back at his specimen. "There is tension in Washington. Hardliners are growing uncomfortable with the arrangement. They want to end cooperation, and have America tackle Jemaat Ansar, directly."

  Sun Tzu nodded. "In Beijing it is no different. Lee has spoken well of the American involvement. This however, has made her suspect. I misstepped – I thought her influence would grow, not weaken."

  "We’ve invested too much. Can you salvage her?"

  "She will salvage herself – and the entire arrangement. If she captures the terrorist she becomes unassailable - for the time being. Beijing, and I imagine Washington too, will not be able to grumble when presented with strong results."

  "Then let us hope there are no complications." He looked up suddenly, frowning. "Will there be complications? How great is the risk? I am troubled that so much is at stake here."

  "With baselines there is always risk. I can only model them so far, and control what they do even less. But I trust Lee’s judgment. It is on her command that I will strike today."

  A hawk came flying across the sea. It landed on Sun Tzu’s shoulder and whispered to him.

  "It is time, Ben Franklin. I must take you leave."

  "Applause waits on success."

  The manmade god reached into the river.

  Sparkling data streamed through his fingers like running water. Inside, shoals of fish chatted and liked, not noticing his shadow over them. Some stalked the others, sharp-toothed, creeping predators. Most though just gossiped about HK celebs and torrented Western movies. He walked along the bank, crossing over China, and into India. Classified reactors and hidden stockpiles showed up like forest fires. Such obsolescence! History had come full circle. A people’s strength over rival tribes, lay again in their gods.

  Sun Tzu waded in. Immediately, he felt a strong undercurrent. His sniffed and tracked it back to Singapore: apologies would be in order. Forgiveness is always more likely than permission.

  He reached Sri Lanka. It was smaller than he expected. Xenophobia, regulation, and neo-Victorianism grew in thick weeds hemming it in. Buddhist monk hobbits stood guard, stern faced, cute, and utterly racist.

  He stepped right over them. They looked up, startled, but had long since stitched their own eyes shut.

  He saw the heart. It was a glowing child in a crib of its parents’ feces. It reached towards him, smiling and gurgling.

  He snapped its neck.

  Galle Road, Kollupitiya Junction, 10:09pm

  "What the fuck?" the bus conductor peered through the window at the dark street. "Power is gone."

  Only brake and headlights lit the road (Sri Lankans do not signal). Blue-white cell phones lit frowning users and failed to connect.

  "The traffic light isn’t working," The driver honked his horn. Achieving nothing, he honked again and again, hopeful something would change. "No one is going!"

  Two men (Vasanth and Akash) with large sports bags stood up suddenly. "Everyone," said Vasanth, "get off the bus."

  "What?" the conductor glared.

  "You too," Vasanth motioned. "Off now!"

  "Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?"

  Akash shot him in the shoulder. People screamed, the men more than the women. From both doors people tumbled out and ran.

  "Not you," Akash held the driver’s arm as he tried opening his side door. His other hand held a second pistol – heavily grained by 3d printing.

  "Please! Let me go!" the driver put his hands together. The conductor wailed on the floor.

  "We’ll let you go, but first, turn the bus sideways and block these lanes."

  "Sir, I can’t, the road is full of cars, Sir."

  Akash opened his sports bag and pulled out a large, plastic, soda bottle. He opened the top – the smell of gasoline, stabbed. He walked down the aisle, pouring onto the floor.

  "Please Sir! I will give you all our money! Please let us go!" howled the driver.

  Glass shattered and horns blared. Across the divider, a bus was forcing cars aside. People cursed, screamed, and threatened pointlessly (Sri Lankans love to threaten pointlessly). The bus ignored them and started turning.

  "Hurry up," said the Akash. He pulled out another bottle.

  "Do it now, or I’ll shoot you twice, in both your balls. Do it now!"

  The driver gunned the engine. The bus roared and slammed into a compact car. It shoved it against another. People were yelling and trying to drive away. Tuk tuks blared their horns and climb up the sidewalks. A Range Rover knocked over a motorcyclist.

  "This is as good as it gets," said Akash. "We need to move." He dragged the bleeding conductor to the steps and kicked him down. He slammed into asphalt, moaning.

  "Now you," Akash pointed his gun at the driver. "Out."

  The driver opened his side door.

  "No, use the steps," said Vasanth. "Hurry up."

  Outside there was a whoosh and the world lit up orange. Flames crowded the second bus.

  "Stop!"

  The driver froze at the top of the steps. Vasanth stepped up, and kicked him hard, in the ass. The driver howled and tumbled out.

  "What the hell was that about?" asked the shooter.

  Vasanth smiled. "I always wanted to kick a Sri Lankan bus driver in the ass."

  They climbed out. Vasanth lit a match and tossed it in.

  Galle Face Hotel, 10:09pm

  "Hisham?"

  Al-Moussawi looked up. Emergency lights shadowed two smiling Chinese women.

  "We are Olga’s friends," said the shorter one.

  "Is there power outside?"

  "No power," said the short one, smiling. "Whole country, no power, no phone."

  Somewhere, a generator began rumbling.

  "Where is Olga?" he asked.

  "She coming. But, you come with us now. We take you Olga. All of us, party."

  "I’m not going anywhere till I finish my drink," he swirled the ice in glass. The tall one stepped behind him and began massaging his shoulders.

  "Olga say come now," said the short one again.

  "Well too bad."

  An arm locked round his throat like a steel ring. Another pressed his head down, completing the chokehold and cutting blood flow. He kicked over the table and tried to stand. Her arms pinned him down like stacks of bricks. The short on
e grabbed his hands suddenly, binding them with a zip tie. He glared at her as she turned black and white.

  "Those guests are fighting!" yelled the waiter, running to the bar. Stockwell stood, unable to sit still.

  People at the other tables were staring. Someone held up their phone and took a picture. A table of meatheads cheered and whooped, raising their beers.

  "Shit, they broke the table," said the maitre d. "What will the GM say? We have to stop this!"

  "Woah," Stockwell raised his hands, "Maybe you should wait till the authorities – " but the maitre d was already running towards the scuffle.

  A Chinese guest got up and blocked him, hand outraised.

  "Please move Sir!"

  The guest pulled out a pistol and waved it. Across the terrace, another armed Chinese man was standing facing the crowd. The camera flashed again. He walked over to the offending table, and quietly demanded the phone. He threw it down and crushed it under his shoe. The meatheads cheered.

  "You go back," the man said to the maitre d. "No one hurt. Shooting, bad for business, yes?"

  The air cracked and red exploded from the Chinese man’s arm. He collapsed into the grass and lay still. The maitre d turned, muzzles flashed out automatic fire again from the foyer. Several men in plain clothes came running into the terrace. One yelled to the others, his gold teeth gleaming.

  "Liao! Liao!"

  Crouched behind the upturned table, Lee checked the girl’s pulse. She gritted her teeth. Zhu was across from her, firing from behind a sculpture. Huang lay still in the grass.

  Bullets punched wooden splinters out of the table, Lee’s head stung: her fingers came away red.

  "Team Two!" Zhu had pulled out his headset and was yelling into it. "What the fuck have you been doing? Wong, you let three shooters in!"

  "We’re coming," said Wong. "We didn’t see any first responders."

  "Remain at the entrances," Lee pulled her head set. "These aren’t the first responders. Team Two, stay at your posts!"

  "Understood."

  "What?" Zhu yelled across the grass at her. In front of him, bullets ploughed dirt into the grass.

  "These aren’t first responders!" she yelled back. "We need Team Two to hold those off. We can take these on our own!"