The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set)

by Taylor Michaels

  The alcohol was finally taking it's toll. She had leaned forward and slumped over onto the table top and appeared to be going to sleep. At John's question, she shook herself and again sat up.

  "Now you're beginning to talk sense. Japan Airlines has a flight around noon from Osaka to London. I went to school with one of the agents, there. I'll give you a note. It might help you through Immigration. Maybe they'll give you an upgrade. Here," she said handing him a business card with Japanese writing on the back. "I'm going," she said, trying to stand up.

  John stood up and helped her. "Are you sure you can walk?"

  "Japanese children learn to walk before American children. I've been walking longer than you and drinking more and longer too. Right now, I can't decide if I should cry or hit you with a chair. If I could find a chair. I don't see any. Where are we. Oh yes. Well good luck. Nice seeing you again. Give me a call."

  "Count on it. Oh, and by the way. A Chinese lady, the mother of a friend, died at sea last night, south of Yokohama. If you hear of anything, send me an email. Thin, around forty. I heard a number of ships were throwing Chinese overboard. A number of bodies were seen on the beach this morning. All men."

  Masako looked into his eyes again. She appeared to be searching for some hidden truth. Then she started crying softly and John handed her a tissue from the advertising package he'd received from a lady at the station exit. He knew handkerchiefs were not acceptable in Japan. "You'll be alright. I'll be alright. Don't worry. I have it all figured out. Talk to your father. He's wise. He'll give you the best advice. You can trust me -- and him. "

  "I know I can trust you. I'm just not sure you trust me. Let me know how you're doing."

  As she wobbled out, the waitress arrived for their order. He handed her a few bills and said, "Sorry, she changed her mind. Women."

  * * *

  Inside the train station complex was a department store, small by Tokyo standards, but still three floors of everything most people would need. John purchased hair dye, makeup and a change of clothes for him and Cho. She would become a redhead. He also bought a burner phone and called the airline to make reservations for their departure in two days from Osaka. The next morning they boarded the bullet train paying cash for the tickets.

  The train pulled out slowly and began to accelerate to its ultimate speed, two hundred miles per hour. The ride was smooth and the only indication of their tremendous speed was the telephone poles along the track. They were just a blur. John took a picture out the window with his phone and a telephone pole covered three-quarters of the picture and was almost completely transparent. He always enjoyed train travel. It seemed so civilized. Not like airplanes where the people were treated like cattle.

  An hour into the trip, a Japanese man walking down the aisle stopped and looked at Cho, then John. Looking at John, he said, "Engrish?"

  John replied, "No, American."

  "Ah so. I onry speak rittle Engrish."

  "That's OK, I speak even less Japanese. Your English is fine. Can I do something for you?"

  He pointed at Cho and said, "Chinese. From Ruhan? Yes?"

  John was taken aback. The Japanese were generally hospitable and gracious people. He would not have expected any public reaction. Smiling, he said, "Sorry, no. Her parents were from China, but she was born in Singapore. She lives in Singapore. All her life. Singapore. Not China."

  "Ah so. Sorry."

  Thirty minutes later, another Japanese man walked by and the same scene played out.

  "Cho, we're going to have to do something."

  "What we do? Leave train?"

  "Yes. Get ready," he said, checking his phone for train schedules. "This is an express, but it has one stop in five minutes."

  As they exited the train, several others looked at Cho strangely. The train station had a department store, which was common. They walked through aisle after aisle and floor after floor.

  "John, what look for? Cho help. Not know what you look for."

  "I don't know either. Somehow we have to disguise you."

  "You look for costume. Maybe, big chicken."

  "A little less obvious."

  Finally, they came upon a custom t-shirt store. He told the clerk he wanted a shirt and jacket with 'Singapore' written in big letters, the biggest letters they had. He also went to another store and bought a baseball hat. He brought it back and had it embroidered with 'Singapore'. "What do you think, Cho. Will that sell it?"

  "John crazy. But maybe crazy like fox."

  They went back to the train platform and boarded the next train to Osaka. Several people walked by their seats and gave Cho an odd look. Each time, she would give a big thumbs up and yell 'Singapore'. Most were startled, but none stopped or spoke.

  * * *

  Two hours later, they were four hundred miles away from where they started and in a hotel near Osaka station.

  Looking at a map, Cho said, "Where we go, John? You say we go father's house in US. This wrong direction. We go backward, toward China."

  "Now you're asking me? Masako said that going straight back to the US was too risky. We would be put into an internment camp. I know someone in London who could get us on a boat. It's a long flight, but it may be the best way to go back to the US, if they're watching the airports, especially on the west coast. Nobody would suspect us of coming from China, if we arrive in the US from England. Especially if we were on a freighter."

  There was a knock on the door. John wasn't expecting anyone and walked over and cautiously looked through the peephole. It was Masako. Opening the door, he said, "Come in. I'm glad to see you, but to what do I owe the pleasure?"

  Masako dropped two small suitcases near the door and then took a long look at Cho as Cho watched her every move. She said, "My father. I told him everything you said. Word for word. He had been depressed. After I mentioned I had seen you, he brightened up. He became really happy. After I told him what you said, he smiled. The first time I've seen him smile in a week. Oh, and the first outbreaks of the virus in Japan have surfaced."

  "Damn. Where?"

  "Okinawa. Six people. Don't worry. It's not your fault. You haven't been there. Have you?"

  "The southern-most island of Japan. Closest to Ruhan. It's not surprising. No. We thought about going there, but it wasn't practical. Yokohama, Tokyo and now Osaka. The middle of the country. That's all. We have reservations tomorrow from Osaka to London. You're coming?"

  "If you'll have me."

  "Of course."

  She walked over to the window and looked out. "You know, this is the tallest building in Japan. I've always wanted to come here to see the view. It is beautiful. I can see miles out to sea. The sea has a special significant for us Japanese. It has fed us and kept our homeland safe from our neighbors. Now, I'm about to leave my homeland, never to return and I'm finally here. It's so sad."

  John thought Masako was going to cry again, so he handed her another tissue. She waved him away.

  "I told my father your plans. I assume they were your plans. The way you said everything in such an offhand way, it almost sounded like you were just musing. Like somebody trying to decide what kind of food to eat for dinner. Anyway, I told him what you said. He didn't look surprised. I don't know why."

  "He's a smart man. Almost knows what's happening before it happens. Maybe, I should have been spying on him instead of spying on the Chinese."

  "I told him I didn't think you were a farmer. He said he saw you as a survivor and he told me that if I wanted to survive, then I should go with you. He said it would be best for me to leave Japan as soon as possible. Too crowded, he said. Then he started crying."

  At that point, Masako stopped speaking and started crying. She reached over and took the tissue John had previously offered. John looked at Cho and shrugged. Cho smiled and nodded her head.

  Masako stopped crying and took another tissue. "You can't believe how much I hate this. I brought the rest of your things and some clothing for me," she said, point
ing to the two small suitcases near the door. "I assumed you were traveling light."

  "Yes. How'd you know we were here?" John wondered if Masako had slipped a bug on him in the restaurant when he wasn't looking.

  "My father has nearly a hundred reporters working for him. If he wants to find out something, he does."

  "It almost sounds like he can read my mind."

  "Yes, I noticed that. You haven't talked to him, have you?"

  "Not since I lived in Japan. What's that been? Three years ago."

  "He always liked you. He said you were 'miwaku'."

  "Ah, yes. Charming."

  Chapter 9 - The Gathering, Dubai

  The taxi ride to the airport was long and expensive. The train was faster and cheaper, but if the virus were now in Japan, traveling on mass transit could be hazardous to their health. John and Cho had consolidated their belongings into two suitcases and discarded Mama's things they couldn't use. The giant Osaka terminal was clean, bright and sterile. John kept looking at all the hard surfaces and wondering how many years the virus would last in such a place. How many gallons of chemicals would it take to clean it?

  "Good morning, Mr. Thompson and Miss Ming and Miss Hirakawa," the agent said looking at the computer. "Ah, Masako. I didn't recognize you. I'm sorry. You changed your hair. Very nice. But with that hat, it covers your pretty face. How are you? It has been over a year."

  "Yes. I haven't been traveling much lately, Miss Nakamura. My father sends his regards."

  "By the way, you should notice that this flight is only direct to London three days each week. On the other days, like today, it goes through Dubai. That will add four hours to the already long flight. I am really sorry."

  "Is there anything faster?"

  "The next direct flight will be late this evening. It arrives in London later than this one. You could go shopping until takeoff."

  "Excuse me," John interrupted. "I don't mind the stopover. It will be the first time either of these ladies has been in that region. It might be educational -- and interesting. We might even take a short tour, if there's time."

  Masako looked at Cho and raised an eyebrow. Cho, in turn, raised an eyebrow. Neither spoke.

  "Fine. If you follow me, I will take you to the short line for customs and immigration."

  As they walked, the agent said something to Masako in Japanese that sounded like, "Your friend is even stranger than most Americans."

  Masako replied only, "Hai," which was Japanese for 'yes.'

  John replied, "Iie" for 'no.'

  The agent stopped and turned to John, her face red. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

  "That's OK. Watashi wa, henna gaijin." Which translated to, 'I am a strange foreigner.' John had used the phrase often when he lived in Japan. It was usually effective in getting a laugh and breaking the ice.

  The agent laughed, but her face stayed red and the ice became even colder and harder.

  Cho had almost as many passports as John. Cho's old boyfriend, Dong, had shown John copies of his work including one where Cho had red hair and was a resident of Singapore. That's how he had the idea for the hair-color change. After she mentioned to John that she once had a boyfriend who was a good forger, John set up a meeting with Dong and after seeing some of Dong's work, he agreed that Dong was one of the best. Cho's passport certainly looked first class.

  The plane left on time and Masako had arranged for them to have an upgrade to Business Class. As he ate dinner, John watched the tiny map on the monitor on the back of the seat in front of him. The little plane on the monitor was furiously trying to get away, but on the surface of the screen, he could see a reflection of himself. Like a ghost of himself peering back at him. The little plane flew at jet speed, but couldn't escape the ghost. It followed him. Haunted him. It wasn't his fault. None of it. He had done nothing wrong. He was just trying to stay alive.

  After dinner, a glass of wine and two glasses of port, the little plane on the map and the ghost reflection were both at the tip of the Arabian Peninsula.

  The stewardess made an announcement on the PA system. "Ladies and gentlemen, our flight will shortly be stopping in Dubai, United Arab Emirates. For those going on to London, we ask that you all deplane and wait in the lounge while the plane is being refueled. It will only take an hour. Thank you very much. We will let you know when we receive further information."

  "Why we get off plane here?"

  "They have cheap fuel in the Middle East so the airline tops off the tanks. They want us to be off the plane in case there's a leak and a fire. And, we could take advantage of this to see some of the countryside. Take a tour."

  "What's going on John? We will never get back to the plane in an hour."

  "They never take off on time. Listen, Masako, Cho, the plane is stopping and it's a good opportunity to see the country. At least get a quick look. Neither of you have ever been to this part of the world. And, it will definitely be your last chance. So, why not? A little cross-cultural experience."

  Masako rolled her eyes and said, "Listen, John. The answer to 'why not' is that you are not being honest. Again! And it is really pissing me off. Again! I have all the cross-cultural experience I can handle dealing with you. I can always tell when you are trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Now, cut out the crap and talk."

  "Look, the seatbelt sign has come on. Fasten your belts. Empty your glasses and make sure you have all your things ready, including all your carry-ons."

  "John! You rat. You filthy rat. You are up to something. Again!"

  * * *

  John, with Masako and Cho in tow, left the plane and exited the lounge. Immigration was no problem after John handed the agent his passport and a set of papers. The agent saluted and then quickly stamped their passports and saluted again.

  "Where you get papers?" Cho whispered.

  "Your old friend Dong. He really is good. Even in Arabic. I had them checked by some Arabic speakers I knew in China. Really first rate."

  "How you know Dong? You jealous? Spy on Cho?"

  John bit his bottom lip and told Cho a half-truth. Certainly, he had checked-out her and all her acquaintances. But that was not personal, he checked everybody out. "Of course not. You told me about him. You gave him such a great recommendation that I looked him up. He's a useful fellow. Very talented. Can't spell worth a darn, but a talented guy. I had him make these and some others a few years ago. It says I am a Colonel in the Dubai Secret Police."

  "Last I heard, you claimed to be a secret lieutenant in the US Navy."

  "Everybody else in spy school was a lieutenant. But, I was promoted -- and transferred. You know. 'Join the navy and see the World.' I took them literally."

  After walking through a long corridor and into the main terminal of the airport, a lady approached with a sign that read, 'John Thompson.' He waved at the lady and she did a quick about face and led them out the door and to a small car, parked in a clearly marked 'No Parking' zone. The keys were in the car and John eased into the driver's seat, still stiff from the long flight. Masako and Cho shrugged and did a quick rock-paper-scissors. Masako took the front seat after Cho squeezed into the back.

  Cho leaned up against the driver's seat. "Talk John. Where we go? Why we here? You up to something."

  "I wish it were daytime. You could see the desert. It's different from where we're going and where we've been."

  "Cut crap, John."

  "You could call it a gathering. We're going to a small, five hundred year old, delightful, little town, built around what was once called the Batta Fort. It's an hour west of here. We will stay tonight at the Inn of the same name. Also delightful. Octagon-shaped rooms with vaulted wooden ceilings and exposed beams. Beautiful. Quite upscale. You could have a camel ride after dinner, if you're sober enough. Wouldn't want you falling off when you're that far from the ground."

  "Not likely at the rate we're going," Masako said. "I'm having a premonition that shows the death in the line of du
ty of a great many wine bottles. I see dead soldiers everywhere. A real massacre. Almost like the one you're going to see if you don't stop keeping secrets."

  John had to smile. There was method in his madness, but it didn't involve Masako. "All shall be revealed. We have dinner reservations for four in the moonlight at a table beside the pool. Totally delightful."

  "Sounds delightful," said Masako. "You're up to something. We want to know what. And who is the fourth?"

  "He's delightful too."

  "You aren't trying to fix one of us up, are you? Someone in particular -- me?"

  "No. Definitely not. I wouldn't dream of it." Then, he said quietly, "Not today, anyway."

  "John, look out!"

  The camel appeared from nowhere into the beams of the headlights as John gave the steering wheel a hard right twist. The car went sideways as the tires screamed and then plowed through the desert sand. The car seemed to slide and slide and slide, almost gliding sideways across the desert. The headlights were pointed straight forward, but with the car sliding sideways, he couldn't see what the car was hitting or what they might hit next. John thought it would never stop. He heard several thumps as if they had hit something soft. Masako had closed her eyes and kept saying something in Japanese. The sand flew up in a giant cloud as the car slid to a stop two hundred feet out in the desert. The headlights bore through the cloud of sand and dust as if they were in a thick fog.

  "Is everybody OK?"

  "Cho OK. Was asleep. What happen?"

  "I'm OK, too," said Masako. "That scared me to death! What was it? I just saw a brown flash."

  "A camel. A prize-winning racing camel, I suspect. And it almost did kill you. If I had hit it, with those long legs, it would have come through the windshield and mashed us all. You and I anyway. Cho might have made it."

  "How do you know that? Maybe it was just an ordinary camel that some guy uses to go to the grocery store on Saturday."