He thought.
Not finding any answers, he shook his head and began to get irritated. Angrily, he blurted, “I don’t know, ya lunatic three-by-five-index-card man, message-writing kook. Maybe ya catch it.”
He shook his head in disgust, and then quickly became silent.
Leaning forward, he took his TV remote in his hand and turned it into a small red solid rubber ball. First, he tossed it from hand to hand a few times.
His mind began to work.
Then, he began to juggle the ball in the air, tossing it up with one hand, and then catching it with the other. Several times he tossed the ball. Higher and higher each time, and each time catching the ball in his right hand, then shifting it to his left.
He continued to think about the question.
Finally, thinking that he might have an idea, he caught the ball one last time. Staring at it, he turned it back into the TV remote and set it down on the coffee table.
But he scoffed, “Great. I’ve got these new super cool abilities. But, by the way, I’ve got a freak-a-zoid killer playing games with me, who somehow knows what I’ve been doing in my life.”
Continuing in his characteristic talking-out-loud manner, he complained, “And I was on my peaceful extended vacation…not bothering anyone, mind you. Now, I’m being forced to do something I never wanted or even asked to do.”
Tilting his head up to the ceiling, he asked a question out loud, “Can I get a refund on my new mojo and get back to my vacation?” He followed with, “I didn’t ask for this! No, no, no!”
Then, he caught himself and looked at his left wrist, remembering the pain associated with the symbol. Trying to correct himself, he spoke loudly again, “Uh, sorry.” Then mumbling, he added, “Didn’t mean it…maybe.”
With a bit of a pout, he crossed his arms over his chest, saying, “Two days. 3 PM. Hmm, I gotta buy plane tickets. Crap. Where am I gonna get the coin for that? It’s all spoken for; it’s already beer money. Whatever. I guess I better refresh my memory as to where this diner is too, and look it up.” He stood up and pulled out his phone from his pant pocket to do a search.
Quickly, he stopped. He wanted to procrastinate.
“I’ll give Dancy a call first, and then I’ll do that other stuff afterwards.”
He turned to walk in the direction of the kitchen and placed his phone on top of the kitchen counter. Soon, he would call.
He picked up a bottle of wine.
The drink was his true first priority.
* * * * * * *
A few days later, Special Agent Etelson and Special Agent Stevens were sitting across from each other with their feet up at Stevens’ desk while Stevens read a document.
Unlike Etelson’s desk, Stevens’ was impeccably clean and organized. A plastic file organizer at the corner of his desk was labeled and contained neatly stacked documents. A pencil holder next to it held five black pens and five sharpened pencils. His laptop sat at the front of the desk, its edges parallel to the edge of the desk. Other than their feet, nothing else was on top of the well-organized desktop.
Etelson put her feet down and swiveled side to side in her seat. Then, she began smacking her lips on her chewing gum. She complained, “I’m waiting…”
“Almost done…hang on. By the way, nothing came up on the tattoo symbol on the criminal database search.”
“Bummer.” Etelson sniffed the air then frowned then sniffed again.
Stevens thought, Hmm, she’s gonna try to get back at me because of the “turd shoes” comment.
Soon, after sniffing the air, she asked, “Did your kid yerp on you again this morning? I smell a distinct essence of kiddy bile.”
Stevens moved the documents to the side of his face and eyed her, looking disgusted. “No, my kid did not yerp on me this morning.” He moved the documents back in front of his face and turned a page, “He hurled on me this morning. On my suit and all. Missy had just fed and burped the little tike, and then she handed him to me. Apparently, he wasn’t finished.”
Etelson blurted a laugh, “Hah, I knew you smelled like yerp!”
“And it was my one and only clean suit. The rest of my stuff’s at the cleaners.”
“Toddlers rock,” she giggled.
“That’s infants, Ett…” Stevens corrected her, “…infants.”
Etelson began to chew her gum loudly again, quite happy she was able to pay him back for his comment about the mud on her shoes. The tit-for-tat play was part of what they called their “Unofficial Non-FBI-Sponsored Smell Game.”
A few seconds passed. She asked, “Well?”
Stevens kept the document in front of his face, and then flipped back to the first page. He responded, “Well, it seems that the ink is made from ingredients not sold in the U.S. and not manufactured here either. The lab needs further analysis and research to determine where the stuff was made. If we want them to, they can do it.”
“Hmm, ok.”
Stevens turned a few pages forward. “And there’s some other compound in the ink. They think it’s some organic animal or human substance, and they’ve taken the initiative to perform further investigation. Aside from being some kind of organic what-cha-ma-who, it’s got its own pigmenting capability also.”
Etelson giggled, “I bet that what-cha-ma-who is the key that’ll crack this case wide open.” She spread her arms out wide in the air, as she continued to swivel side to side in the chair. “And you just gave it its name, Rye. Congrats! It’s a what-cha-ma-who!”
Still staring at the pages, Stevens said in a monotone voice, “Yup, get ready to alert the press, Etti.”
After pondering on what Stevens told her, she asked, “So, are those dweebs in the lab working on it, on that what-cha-ma-who?”
Stevens put down the document onto his desk, and then protested, “Now that’s just mean, calling them dweebs.”
“Well, I say that in a loving way. One of those dweebs is kinda cute, ya know.”
“Oh, yeah? Who?”
“Martin.”
“Which? They’re both named Martin: Martin T. and Martin B. And they both have German accents.”
“Martin B.”
Stevens responded, “Ah. The geek with thick, black, horn-rimmed glasses. Always wearing that ‘I Wanna Believe’ shirt.” He shook his head, “Nothing is ever out of style with dweebs.”
It was her turn to protest. “See! You just called him a dweeb!”
“Well, I say it with affection,” Stevens said with a grin.
Then Etelson giggled, “…yeah, that’s the one. That dweeb.” She continued, “I swear he owns like fifty pairs of those shirts. Or he wears the same one every day. But he always smells good - that’s what throws off my count - I can’t tell if the shirts are recycled or not.” She smacked on her chewing gum more loudly.
Etelson went further, “He’s tall. I like his cute accent. If he wore contacts, and ya give him a nice suit to wear; I’m sure he’ll look all ‘fine and handsome’.” She made air quotes and glided her head side to side, as she said the words. “But he’s always carrying a beaker of something.” Quickly, she sat up straight, stiffened her back, and pretended to hold a beaker in her hand.
Stevens knew it signaled that one of her people-imitations was about to begin.
She spoke and put on a German accent, imitating her subject with a deep voice. “Yah, hi, I’m Martin. Yah. Do you think I’m cute and sexy holding a sexy beakah, with sexy bubbly liquid inside? Yah.”
“Stop.” Stevens started to smile. “That’s just not funny…”
“Yah. Call me. Und I will call you.” Then, she accidentally spoke a Russian word, “Da. Call me.” She caught herself. “Yah, well as a German, I speak Russian too. Da.”
She giggled while Stevens shook his head. Etelson continued, unabashed, “Call me. And me und mein sexy beakah will soon be at your door. Hot und heavy, sexed out, baby. Yah.”
Stevens started to laugh. “Stop!”
Etelson began to s
purt out a laugh but stopped herself. With a big smile, she continued, “Und I will wear mein very sexy lederhosen, yah. Women fall to their knees under the power of the lederhosen.”
“Oh, now that’s just disturbing.” Stevens buried his face in his hand. “I’m not liking the mental image here.”
Etelson’s feet stomped on the floor. She began laughing out loud and couldn’t stop herself. Dropping her imitation, she exclaimed, “Oh, no! My God. Can you picture it? The sexy lederhosen?” Her face had turned flush. “I’ll never be able to look at him with a straight face again!”
Stevens lifted his head. “Oh, you?! If he’s holding a beaker the next time I see that poor guy…and you bring up ‘lederhosen’…I’m just gonna keel over.”
Such were their Unofficial Non-FBI-Sponsored moments.
Then, agent Etelson’s mobile phone rang. She pulled the phone from her pocket and read the caller’s name. Then sighing, she pronounced, “Ok, time to work. It’s Martin T.”
Putting the phone to her ear, she greeted, “Hi Marty.” She used “Marty” as a short nickname for the lab analyst, Martin T. “Hold on, I’ll put you on speaker phone.” She tapped a button on her phone’s screen and set it down onto the desk. “Ok, go ahead, Marty. Agent Stevens is with me here.”
Martin’s heavy German accent came through the phone speaker, “Ah, hello, Agents Etelson and Stevens. I trust your day is going well?”
“Oh, just perfect, Marty,” Etelson smiled, “I’m glad you called. Someone had to get us to start doing some serious work.”
“Yah, well then, I’m sorry to be the one,” Martin laughed.
Stevens added with a grin, “I was trying to work, Martin, but not Etti. So, what do ya have for us?”
“Well, some very interesting news, Agents. Yah, as you know, I was attempting to carefully open the glass-like enclosure of the small object that you are calling the ‘red pearl’. At first, I tried to use some conservative means to gain access to the contents inside. For example, applying light pressure on the object. However, Agent Etelson and Agent Stevens, no matter what I tried and whatever tool I leveraged, I was sadly unsuccessful.”
“Wow, really?” Etelson remarked.
“Yah, truly. I tried heavier and heavier weights and stronger and more powerful tools. But all throughout my endeavors, I quite sadly failed. I must shamefully admit, I was quite exasperated, yah.”
“So, what did you end up doing?” asked Stevens.
“Well, I am also ashamed to say that I was so puzzled, that I resorted to yelling at it in German,” Martin admitted, as he laughed sheepishly.
Etelson and Stevens laughed silently to each other.
“Really,” Etelson said grinning.
“Agent Etelson, you should see my work bench with all the tools spread out on top of it. At one point, I was tempted to just burn it. But of course, if that had worked, we would have had nothing left to analyze, yah. Nevertheless, after my anger faded, I even more sadly began pleading with it. And now I am even more ashamed to say this to you…however, sometimes good things happen, when one is at one’s lowest. And that is when the most wonderful event happened.”
As Martin paused, Etelson and Stevens drew closer to the phone.
Martin continued, “I do not know if this is coincidence or if possibly all the attempts I made finally culminated in success, but it happened nonetheless. I pleaded to it many things, but then at last, I asked it one thing in German.”
“…yeah,” Stevens coaxed.
“Afterwards, the outer material just seemed to vanish or turn into smoke and float away, yah, or somehow dissolve. Then, the contents spilled out over the dish it was on.”
“No way!” Etelson exclaimed in disbelief.
“Yah, way,” replied Martin.
“What did you say to it?” she asked.
“Something only I wish to tell you later,” Martin laughed. “Unfortunately, it will show to you how angry and frustrated I was. Right now I am too embarrassed to admit.”
“That’s quite a story, Martin,” Stevens said. “You’re not pulling our leg are ya? Or maybe you’re getting back at Etti for some prank she did on you guys.”
“My scientific eyes wish I were joking. I cannot explain it.”
Etelson interjected, “I’m sure it’s coincidence. All the stuff you tried probably weakened that outer cover and it finally chemically broke down.”
“Agent Etelson, I must admit, I prefer your explanation. And that is certainly what I will tell Martin when I recount to him my efforts.”
“Alright, Marty. So, what did you do next? Were you able to analyze the blood cells?”
“Yah, they are human red blood cells. However, they are very peculiar. Unlike human blood cells that do not contain nuclei, these have some form of nuclei. I am analyzing it further and am waiting for test results. And as I wait, I wanted to inform you of the progress.”
“Well, that’s just amazing work, Marty,” Etelson complimented. “Very well done, thanks.”
“You are certainly welcome, Agents. And maybe next time I will keep some embarrassing information to myself, yah?” Martin chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it, Marty. We’re all friends here,” Etelson remarked. Then, she couldn’t help herself. She added with a sly grin, “But do this for me, Marty. The next time you go on a date, use that same German line you told the red pearl. And then, tell us what happens.”
Martin laughed, “Of course…maybe her clothes vanish, yah?”
* * * * * * *
After their discovery of one of Nebuchadnezzar II’s ancient Babylonian palaces, Iraqi-born archeologists Omar Malshar Gul and Malik Khel visited museums worldwide to exhibit the beautiful and awe-inspiring artifacts from that discovery.
One particular visit, five years ago, was even more meaningful and exciting. It was the very first time they were in the United States. Gul, Khel, and other colleagues were in Los Angeles, at the Ghetri Museum.
Their host was the Director of Antiquities. She was a kind, small woman in her early fifties, having straight, short brown hair, and wearing plastic, wide, circle-framed glasses. Hanging from her neck was an ID badge that displayed her name, “S. Skramstad, PhD.”
Upon greeting her guest in the lobby entrance of the museum, Dr. Skramstad gave them simple options to pursue for their first afternoon at the site. “Well, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, with her hands clasped together, “We could have an early lunch, and then take a whirlwind tour of the property. Or we could take a whirlwind tour of the property, and then have a late lunch. Which would you prefer?” Dr. Skramstad tended to both stress and lengthen the pronunciation of certain words in her sentences.
Gul smiled an enormous smile. He turned and looked at the faces of his colleagues, who also knowingly smiled back at him. Facing the director, he spoke in English with a strong Arabic accent, “Doctor, if you would please be so kind, we are not so hungry. But we were looking very forward to one thing - the very first thing we wanted to do upon arriving. We are so excited for it. We spoke about it as we planned our travel, and even as we flew here in the plane.”
“Oh? And what is that, Mr. Gul?” Dr. Skramstad asked, as she smiled back warmly.
“May we go to the beach? We would like to sink our toes in the sand and dance in the ocean waves,” Gul finished his request with a laugh, and his companions chuckled, as they stood behind him.
The director’s eyes opened wide, and she answered excitedly, “Oh, yes! That would be wonderful wouldn’t it? I believe the drive to the ocean is only a few minutes. I would love to go myself.” She raised her hand in a fist, exclaiming, “Let’s do it, shall we!”
In no time, the group gleefully filed into a white van. With the little director at the wheel, they were on their way.
Soon, the director found herself standing at a distance, in her business attire dress, on the concrete boardwalk at a Santa Monica beach. She laughed and shook her head, enjoying and watching her guests, still i
n their shoes, run across the white sand toward the calm shoreline.
Malik Khel, being the tallest and longest legged, reached the water first and ran into the ocean with his shoes on.
Immediately behind him, the shortest, yet nimblest, Omar Gul kicked his shoes away and splashed into the cool waters.
The others joyfully followed their lead, taking off their shoes and socks.
A moment later, they were already clasping hands and dancing in a circle.
As he danced, Gul raised his hands and chanted a question, “Where are we?”
“America!” they shouted back in unison.
“Where are we?” he asked again.
“California!”
“Where are we?”
“The beach!” they yelled back, whooping and laughing.
Their celebration continued for some time.
This was the only time Gul saw his usually stolid friend, Malik Khel, so excited and happy. It was Khel’s one and only dream, and it had come true.
When the dancing ended, Gul slapped Khel’s shoulder and spoke in Arabic, “Well, my brother Malik! We are here at last.”
“Yes, Omar,” Khel answered, as he stood smiling and staring into the western horizon, with his shoes still on. “Yes.”
They were silent for a moment, just breathing in deep the ocean air.
Finally, Khel asked, while in his fixed gaze, “Is he going to meet us, brother?”
Gul breathed in, and then breathed out audibly. “Yes,” he smiled and answered. “We have both seen it, have we not?”
Khel had another question, “Was it wise not to bring the scrolls? We have never displayed them in any exhibit, but maybe this time, since he will be coming, should we have taken them with us also? Maybe to show him, to convince him?”
“I do not know, brother,” Gul answered softly. “But it seemed that God was directing us not to. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” Khel replied in a whisper. “Yes.”
Years ago, the excavation team had translated the large scrolls they had found within Nebuchadnezzar’s palace. Soon after, Gul and Khel began receiving dreams and visions of both the distant past and near future.
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 17