The Hunt for the Tree of Life (Book One 1)

by Zulu, Arthur

  He took a break, enjoyed his coffee, and read the newspapers. The newspapers were suddenly publishing titles like, “Diplomatic Terrorism,” and “Axis of Evil Axe America.”

  The reports linked the twenty international passports found at Citizens to the three diplomatic vans abandoned in Maryland. The stories said that reporters went to the Head of English at Harvard to ask for the meaning of the new Harvardspeak and that the professor had replied: “Pay me one billion dollars!” The AG laughed.

  Harvard University was now besieged by reporters desirous of learning the mysterious language and particularly asking two questions: “What is meant by oracular is in omega?” “What is Mother Muse?”

  These reporters can make a serious matter interesting, he said to himself. And returned to his briefs.

  The FBI detectives saw the multiple accidents, stopped, and promptly went over to the scene. These Chinese diplomats were in danger.

  Cheung and his agents had, however, come out of the vehicles. There were no serious injuries except for a few minor bruises, but they were all in a state of shock and the vehicles were dented.

  “Is anybody hurt?” asked the FBI team leader.

  “No, thanks,” replied Cheung uneasily. Things had been going well for them and they never expected to meet the FBI agents under these circumstances. He wished they could go away.

  “But is there anything we can do for you?” the FBI boss persisted.

  “Nothing. We are all right. Our Consul General is on the way with vehicles to meet us,” Cheung answered cautiously.

  “So what really happened?”

  “Bad tire, you can see it,” he replied dismissively, pointing to the burst tire.

  “You could have been speeding to have caused this multiple collision,” the FBI leader said, fishing for trouble.

  “We are diplomats,” was his defensive reply.

  The FBI boss changed tactics.

  “Sorry, where were you coming from?”

  “New Jersey.”

  “Going to New York?”

  “Yes.”

  The FBI boss was not comfortable with the monosyllabic answers. He did not want to provoke a confrontation. After all, they were Chinese diplomats and this was an accident. He was supposed to show empathy.

  “Sorry again for the accident,” he now said. He and his officers began milling around the four vehicles and peeping inside.

  The first three vehicles had shattered window glasses but the fourth, bearing the diplomatic crate, had minimal damage and the tinted window glasses were intact. They could not see inside it.

  “This vehicle is least damaged,” the FBI leader said, tapping at the glass window.

  Cheung looked at him but did not answer.

  At that time, the Chinese Consul General arrived in his car followed by five other empty vehicles. He alighted, greeted his country men and women in Chinese, proceeded to inspect the damage, and finally leaned on the fourth vehicle.

  “Thank you officers for coming over to help,” he said to the FBI leader and his agents. “We can handle this. I have brought vehicles to take them away. You may go; thanks again,” he concluded, shaking hands with the American agents.

  The Americans seemed reluctant to take their leave.

  The Consul General and his people were now talking animatedly in Chinese. The Americans did not understand them. The Chinese were using delay tactics. They wanted the Americans to depart before transferring the crate to a new vehicle. But it looked like these Americans were also playing cat and mouse.

  “Where are you and your officers? Have you not chanced on anything yet?” the FBI director at headquarters called the FBI leader at the accident scene.

  “We are at New Jersey, sir; nothing now. We’ve been thirty minutes at an accident scene involving Chinese diplomats,” he replied.

  “Thirty minutes? That’s an eternity! Call the road safety people and Red Cross officials to take care of the victims and move.”

  “There are no fatalities, sir, and their CG has come from New York with vehicles.”

  “Then you have no business there. Get going with your officers. Never spend more than five minutes at a place unless you stumble on something. We must get these fleeing kidnappers fast. There is no time to schmooze. The Attorney General is breathing down my neck. Get moving!” the director instructed.

  With that, the FBI team leader waved a quick goodbye to the Chinese CG and his agents still crowded over the van, discussing. He ordered his detectives back to their patrol vehicle and drove away. The Chinese agents watched them go and smiled.

  After the FBI agents had gone a good distance, the Chinese opened the fourth vehicle and quickly transferred the crate to another van.

  Inside the vehicle, Cheung opened the crate. “You are safe. Just a minor accident,” he said to the panicking doctor attending to Professor Muse. The professor was still fast asleep.

  They were now happily traveling in five new diplomatic vehicles to JFK International Airport in New York.

  Chapter 6

  Detroit International Airport is the most secure airport in America, if not the scariest. Passengers arriving or departing Detroit tell horrific stories, no thanks to the airport security officials.

  The list of body searches and gymnastics that such passengers go through is ridiculous and degrading: Frisk up. Frisk down. Stand at ease. Stand sideways. Stand legs apart. Stand akimbo. Hands up. Hands down. Step forward. Step backward. About turn.

  That is the beginning. And yet more: Your pockets inside out. Your bra is too large. Your pants are heavy at the hips. That shoe is oversized, come let’s examine those. You have a bushy hair, need some combing. Your stomach is protruded, come use the restroom.

  They are not finished yet: Look at me in the eye straight without blinking. You have big cheeks, open your mouth. You have a large nose, look at the ceiling.

  The worst is yet to come: What powdery substance do you have there? Is that a prescription drug? What book is that? Is it on al-Qaeda or ISIS? Let’s see your laptop. What sites do you visit?

  These are some of the unsavory tales of passengers at Detroit airport. If one laughs too much or looks serious, they are taken away for a special search. If they have a Muslim name that sounds like Adusalami or have a tongue-biting name like Usman Dan Fodio, they are damned!

  When passengers bemoan their fate at Detroit, they do not know the cause of their woes. That singular person is Eagle-Eye, the airport security director.

  The slim and agile six-footer is security numero uno in America. He does not want it to go down in aviation security record that a terrorist, drug pusher, or some other security deviants stepped foot at Detroit International Airport, and left scot free. No, it will never happen. Not when Eagle-Eye is in charge.

  He would go from counter to counter in the airport shouting, “Not a fly!” He would march to the Arrival Lounge instructing his officers and saying, “Not a fly!” He would dash to the Departure Lounge giving orders to the officials and conclude by saying, “Not a fly!”

  Because of his antics, he came to be called, Not-A-Fly. That was how he was known in security circles across America. Even in Washington, from the Pentagon to the White House, they called him, Not-A-Fly.

  He first served in the U.S. Army as captain. During that time, Capt. Eagle-Eye was in charge of marching drills.

  He would appear immaculately dressed in the parade ground and would first give the soldiers some marching lessons, demonstrating each movement, turn, and salute, to precision.

  His legs and arms synchronized to his marching commands with the exactitude of a timepiece to the cheers of the military officers.

  Of course, there was no cheering or applause when the proper marching drill began. His loud and distinct voice resonated to the four corners of the parade ground with drill commands: Stand at ease! Forward march! About face! Change step march! Close march! Double time march! At ease! At rest!

  “If you love America, perfect mar
ch!”

  That used to be his introductory remark before the march. The meaning is that all soldiers who love America should march perfectly. There was to be no Right face! when he meant Left face and there was to be no Right shoulder arms! when he commanded Left shoulder arms! Which soldier would not perfect march for the love of America?

  Capt. Eagle-Eye says a military officer should not walk, but march. Yes, that is the essential difference between a civilian and a military officer. These are trained to march.

  In fact, he does not walk. He marches. An officer in charge of military march drills should not walk, but march. He leads by example.

  The captain and marching drill master later went for a four-year course in military intelligence. At the end of the training, Capt. Eagle-Eye was promoted to the rank of major and loaned to aviation.

  After the 9/11 attacks, Maj. Eagle-Eye was drafted to train all security officials in American airports. All officials who attended the training said they had never learnt anything of the kind before. As a result, American airports had become safer.

  At the end of the training, he was posted to JFK International Airport in New York to beef up its security. He was fondly missed at Detroit. His juniors shed tears at the send-off party of Not-A-Fly.

  At JFK, he had already set standards and stamped his authority. He had been following the high-profile story of the kidnap of Professor Muse. The abductors, he swore, would never pass through JFK. Not a fly, he swore again and again.

  Ever since the story broke, he had been giving daily instructions and additional training to the airport security agents. He had refused to go home, sleeping with one eye open in his office at the airport.

  In the middle of the night, he would walk from counter to counter instructing his officers and telling them, “Not a fly!” So the name has caught on in New York, Not-A-Fly.

  Mr. Cheung and his Chinese agents had decided that New York would be their best place to hop into an airplane and leave America. JFK was the nearest airport to Washington, where they were coming from, so the risk of discovery was less.

  It had been a daring adventure, but success was now smiling in their faces. They were within a few kilometers from the airport. Soon, they would be airborne and it would be over.

  Suddenly, the car radio began broadcasting breaking news: “All air and sea ports in America are closed.”

  The surprise announcement by the White House caused chaotic scenes in air and sea ports in America.

  Travelers– businesspeople and vacationers–cursed. What did they have to do with a professor’s kidnap?

  Cheung and his agents were, however, the most jolted. The shock was comparable to experiencing one of the many earthquakes in China. These Americans were determined to catch them.

  They were now in the airport. Cheung was making and receiving calls—from the Consul General to the ambassador in Washington and the president in Beijing. He and his officers would have to wait it out at the airport along with other irate passengers. If it came to the worst, they would return to the Consulate in New York.

  President Godsend was holding an emergency meeting with his cabinet members and security chiefs in the White House. It was a long and stormy session.

  The issues at hand: Was it really North Korea, Iran, and Cuba that kidnapped Professor Muse? Was it only one of them or were there any other nations outside the three? What evidence did U.S. intelligence have? What efforts had been made to catch the fleeing kidnappers? What did they further need to do? How long should the closure last? What was the impact on the economy? Would the airlines sue the government? What could be done to ameliorate the plight of the stranded travelers?

  The White House spokesman briefed the anxious reporters at the end of the meeting. Cheung and his agents heard the outcome on radio: “The United States government has re-opened the air and sea ports for all passengers except for those bound for North Korea, Iran, and Cuba. It regretted the inconvenience caused to travelers, reiterated its resolve to catch the kidnappers and re-affirmed the one billion dollar reward.”

  In fact, the television stations were continuously playing a one-minute advert showing the picture of Professor Muse and ending with the words, “Claim your one billion dollar reward.”

  Cheung and his officers were relieved. Then the telephone calls resumed again—from New York to Washington and Beijing. There was possibility of an escape.

  Maj. Eagle-Eye who had his first full sleep after the closure now rose after listening to the news and started telling his officers that his airport remained closed to everyone. He was not obeying the re-opening order.

  The passengers who were hitherto beaming with smiles now became downcast. What was wrong with this man?

  “I don’t take instruction on radio. Transport Secretary must send me a signed letter,” he was shouting from one place to the other in the airport. Those kidnappers cannot pass through here, he said to himself. He knew by instinct that they would be going through New York.

  Not even a fly can pass through JFK, he said again to himself, stamping his feet on the floor. At that time, his secretary came to meet him outside. She had an information.

  “You have a fax message from the Department of Transport in Washington, sir,” she said.

  “Bring it here! My job is outside where these kidnappers are, not in the office,” he said and resumed marching across the airport, looking suspiciously at every passenger.

  The secretary rushed in and brought the fax message to him. But he did not want to look or read it.

  “I have brought it, sir.”

  “Read it to my hearing.”

  She read the message while he stood, listening.

  “Re-read the first sentence.”

  She read: “The United States government has re-opened the air and sea ports for all passengers except for those bound for North Korea, Iran, and Cuba.”

  “Is it signed?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “By whom?”

  “Transport Secretary, sir.”

  “Look at it carefully. Is it his signature?”

  “Yes, it is sir. You can look at it yourself,” she said, giving it to him.

  However, Eagle-Eye did not take or read it. He merely peeped at the letter.

  “All right. If that is what it says,” he replied, surrendering. “Now, officers, Transport Secretary says everyone can travel, except those bound for North Korea, Iran, and Cuba. That is what Transport secretary said. So now, check their papers, search everyone. Not a fly,” he said, and started again to pace about the airport.

  Life returned once more to the airport. Passengers were holding their luggage and queuing up for checking.

  From a distance, Eagle-Eye noticed a large box and a group of travelers before checking officers at the counter. At once, he started marching toward the direction swearing as he went, Not a fly!

  When the checking security officers saw their boss swearing and marching toward them, they instantly knew that there was trouble. At such times, everything had to stop. The master had come to supervise and take charge of the process.

  In such occasions, they had to get things right – from screening to asking the right questions, tough questions. And they had to follow a procedure–Eagle-Eye’s procedure. The security officers knew what awaited them at the end–fire for shoddy job or promotion for excellent performance. They all wanted to be promoted.

  Maj. Eagle-Eye got to the checking counter, halted to establish his presence, then did an about turn and began to strut away. The security officials and the travelers looked on and waited.

  Mr. Cheung and his agents were apprehensive. This was strange. Americans wanted to have the last laugh. The worst was about to happen. Cheung wore a contoured face. Good luck was his name but now it seemed that he has had one luck too many. His name no longer worked for him.

  Having marched six meters, Eagle-Eye stopped, did an about turn and began marching back to the checking counter. There was silence. Cheung a
nd his Chinese secret agents resigned themselves to the gambols of this strange man in JFK.

  “First things first, introduction,” Eagle-Eye said to his officers.

  The procedure to catch a fly had started. The master had to be introduced to the travelers.

  “Meet our boss, Maj. Eagle-Eye. Not a fly passes through him,” one of the airport security officials said to Cheung and his fellow Chinese.

  “Stage two—your test question. How much do you know about this group of travelers?” asked the boss.

  Now, this was usually one of the toughest stages. The junior officers had to demonstrate their knowledge of current affairs with regard to the passengers. Eagle-Eye said knowledge was the most important attribute of a security official. At such times, each of the airport officials at the checking counter took turns assisting one another—saying what they knew about the travelers.

  “They are Chinese diplomats going to Beijing on a special flight,” said one.

  “I read in the New York Times that the group had multiple accidents in New Jersey,” said a second official.

  “Yes, the accident was caused by a burst tire,” another added.

  “The first to arrive at the accident scene were FBI agents,” another said.

  “CNN reported the Chinese CG in New York arrived with five vans and took them away,” another quickly added.

  Maj. Eagle Eye kept nodding as his officials answered.

  “I am proud of you. My training has not been in vain,” he said. “You read the same newspaper and watch the same television station as I do. I am so proud of you,” he repeated and nodded again. The officials smiled. They were happy. They had passed a difficult stage.

  On the other hand, Cheung and his operatives looked at one another in surprise, hearing the security officials tell their story. Could it be that they had already known the contents of the box?

  “Next stage, officers. Caution notice,” said Eagle-Eye to his airport security officials.

  They were already prepared with what would happen after this. They had their list of tough questions. A security official who does not know how to ask penetrating questions does not have any job in a security organization.