by Howard Upton
“I won’t go down in a burst of flames
I won’t stay locked up in your chains
Yeah, it hurts but it ain’t strong enough to whip me
I might stagger and I might fall
But I won’t beg and I won’t crawl
A tear or two might fall into my shot of whiskey
But I won’t cry no Mississippi”
Buddy’s eyes opened and he saw Evers standing there staring at him, his jaw slack. Other patrons were looking at him, some obviously upset at him disrupting their conversations, and others giggling and laughing. He looked at Evers, frowned and looked around at the people staring in dismay.
“What? This is good goddam music. Y’all act like you’ve never heard a man sing before!” he exclaimed.
For the first time in more months than he could remember, Evers’ head tilted back and a loud belly laugh boomed through the store. He put his hands on his knees and continued laughing, while others sitting around Buddy did the same.
“Kiss my ass, Young Buck,” mumbled Buddy as he closed his computer and put his ear buds on the table.
Still laughing, Evers took a seat at the table. Buddy scowled at him before finally extending his hand and shaking. Evers looked around the room as people returned to their conversations and latte drinking.
“Interesting meeting place, Buddy. When I got your message on the bulletin board I assumed we’d be sitting in your office at Langley,” Evers said.
Buddy’s eyes shifted quickly, and a confused look crossed his brow. Finally, he smiled in understanding and replied, “Damn, Buck, you honestly think I’m an employee of the Christians In Action?” It was his turn to offer up a belly laugh, and laugh he did.
Evers watched his friend guffaw at him, while the confused look moved from Buddy to his own face. “Wait. I thought you said you were working for them.”
“I do work for them, Buck. I’m a private contractor just like you. I have no problem taking hard working tax payers’ money, but there’s only so much hypocrisy I can put up with. No way would I find myself as an employee of the feds again. Besides, contracting pays much better,” he explained.
“What all are you doing for them?” Evers asked.
“You ask a lot of questions, Buck, but I’ll tell you that they call me in when they have ‘special’ projects, not so dissimilar to what you and I worked on a few months ago.”
Evers studied him for a moment then said, “Special projects, huh? The kind of projects they don’t want their names mixed up in should something go wrong.”
“Pretty much sums it up. Had we been caught in Xi’an, we’d been on our own. That would have been bad, my friend,” he chuckled.
“Yeah, that would have been bad...,” Evers said sarcastically. “Speaking of bad, what have your sources told you about Dugan? I’m certain the Chinese had a time with him before executing him in some dark dungeon.”
“You know, we haven’t heard anything about or from him. The Chinese have been mum since the whole operation. We received word that they opened the museum the next day and all eight thousand warriors were standing in line like they were going to war. It’s been reported that every damned one of their physical positions had changed. Statues that had previously stood at attention are now frozen in mid-stride.
Of course, the Chi-com government denied any weirdness, shut down the museum, and moved the army back into the pits. They haven’t let tourists back in there yet. I’m sure they’re trying to figure out what to tell people. Comparisons of the army then versus now will be difficult for them to explain,” Buddy said.
“We should have killed him when we had the chance,” Evers said of Dugan. “I just hope the commies get it done.”
“There was no time, Buck. Things happened pretty quickly and I figured him being alive would occupy the Chinese while we made our way to the train. Luckily it worked and we managed to get to Mongolia unimpeded,” said Buddy.
Evers rose and walked over to the Starbucks counter to order a cup of coffee. They poured it for him and he walked back to their table and took his seat. “Three and a half dollars for this shit,” he muttered. He looked back at Buddy and said, “I don’t understand why the rest of the Terracotta Army didn’t turn to sand like the statue outside, Buddy. Do you have any idea why that didn’t happen to them?”
Buddy took a deep breath before replying, “I can only speculate, Buck. What I think is that the old village man put forth the angst of his own will into that cartouche and focused most of his hatred on the man who had killed his son, as the legend goes. I’ve been doing some more reading and research on the whole situation, and the locals believe that warrior was the one responsible for killing his offspring. Revenge and magical power can do strange things, I believe.
“The rest of his spell was to exact revenge on the Emperor for sending his son’s executioner, but it doesn’t appear there was as much hate or ire for the rest of the army as there was for that one lone soldier. Of course, I’m just guessing, Buck, but that at least seems plausible to me,” Buddy stated.
Evers sipped his hot coffee and thought about what Buddy was telling him. “So, what does it all mean? The spell has been broken, the cartouche is destroyed, and the Terracotta Army is destined to stand vigil for an eternity in that museum. That’s it, right?”
“Is what ‘it,’ Buck? You mean no more magic and shit?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking,” Evers responded.
“As long as there are men, there will be unexplainable things that will happen. Some of those things, Buck, will be works of magic, or forces of their will used to influence events or other people. The good thing, however, is that we will have jobs so long as that weird shit keeps happening. Our government will always try to get its hands on stuff like that and that’s where you and I come in,” Buddy replied.
“Well, I reckon your friends at the Agency are pissed that they didn’t get the key to their army, huh,” Evers asked?
“At first they were upset, yes. I told them Dugan destroyed it when we tried to seize it. No need in them being mad at us since he made the perfect scapegoat,” Buddy laughed.
“I see,” Evers responded. “So tell me, why did you have me come all the way up here, Buddy? There are things like telephones and the Internet that will allow us to have conversations without the time and expense of air travel.”
“Always cutting to the chase, Buck. Like I told you before, that’s why I love ya. What I wanted to say to you, face to face, is that the government, after some prompting and poking from yours truly, has decided to pay us in full. I think they want to keep us happy and to keep us on call. When we met, I told them how unhappy the two of us were to have gone through hell and high water only to find ourselves half rewarded. They finally relented and agreed to pay us. The money should be wired to your personal account within the next two weeks. That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Buddy said with considerable cheer in his voice.
A broad smile appeared on Evers’ face. He had never dreamed of having that much money. No more working odd security jobs for snobbish business executives or strung out rock musicians. Living comfortably would be something he could at long last look forward to.
Buddy dropped his eyes for a couple of seconds then started speaking again, “Buck, when we were on that mission you promised me to get some help for the nightmares. I expect you to keep your word. Other people, they don’t understand what it means to be a soldier and have to kill. They think they understand, but until a man looks another man in his eyes before pulling a trigger, well, he could never understand what we deal with inside our own heads. I want to be able to call on you for future missions, but I have to know that you’re doing okay. Remember, you promised me.”
Evers could feel the anger swelling inside, but fought to keep it in check. He hated being psychoanalyzed, but knew Buddy was only trying to help. Besides, it was true that he had agreed to seek help for the PTSD, if that’s what was really hau
nting his dreams. He measured his response then said, “You’re right, Buddy. I promised you that I would get help and I will. I’ve thought some about it and am pretty sure I know where I can go to get some help, and maybe a little peace of mind too.”
Buddy smiled a toothy grin. “That’s my boy. Exorcise them demons, son. Get ‘em out of your spirit and let ‘em rest in peace.” He reached for his laptop and slid it into its black cloth case. With nimble fingers he rolled up his earphones and stuck them in a pocket on the case.
“Well, Buck, you go get that help and I’ll be in touch. I’m about to head to Boston for a few days,” he said.
“Boston? What the hell is in Boston,” Evers asked?
Buddy’s devilish grin reappeared. “I met a lady who is in need of some country fried Buddy loving. Met her in the airport on the way to Mexico, and she wants me to come up there and give her a little attention,” he winked.
“You’re a smooth operator, Buddy Smith,” Evers replied as he stood and turned toward the door. “I’ll be in touch."
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Howard Upton
A Sneak Preview of Bill Evers’ Next Adventure…
Occam’s Razor
A Bill Evers Novel
by Howard Upton
We are on the verge of a global transformation. All we need is the right major crisis and the nations will accept the New World Order.
David Rockefeller
We must move as quickly as possible to a one-world government, one-world religion, under a one-world leader.
Robert Mueller
Former Assistant Attorney General of the United Nations
Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people,
living life in peace
John Lennon
The Grove Luxury Estate
Watford, United Kingdom
The members, all two hundred thirty-two of them, were focused on the man at the lectern. His hair was meticulously combed back and styling gel carefully applied to hold it in place. More gray than brown distinguished itself creating the appearance of age and wisdom. His skin was still smooth, most likely due to expensive face creams and strategic plastic surgery. The dark blue Brioni suit he was wearing was chic, exquisitely groomed, and worth more money than many people would make in a single year. Japanese made, Tenda eyeglasses, framed his chiseled face, the titanium metal used in them light and never short on style.
His sharp English accent cascaded over the assembly. Before he offered his short opening speech, he stood and gazed over the ensemble of the world’s elite. His hesitation in speaking was a measured bit of theatrics, but he knew the potential sway it would afford him had a tremendous upside.
“We are all acutely aware of the impact of global climate change, famine, and disease, and their relative influences on mankind as a whole. Gone are the days that one country can influence and reduce causation brought upon us by continued industrialization. We are truly a global village, and with that mantle comes ownership and stewardship of our Earthly environs. At the very least, we must take aim at the purveyors of disinformation and environmental disharmony. No longer can we turn a blind eye to the injustices brought upon our children by those who simply desire additional profit and creature comforts.
“At no time in human history has the prospective for its demise been more at hand. We are a species like no other. Our inherent cannibalistic propensities and inability to curb our reproductive cravings has endangered the planet to the point of total annihilation. People steal our planet’s natural assets today without thought nor care for tomorrow. How can we look at one another and not be ashamed?
“Now, my esteemed colleagues, is the time to take a stand. We, with a unified voice, can slowly turn back the hands of time, lowering pollutant particulates in our air, reducing toxic emissions that effect our ability to breath, eliminate dependence on antiquated methods of transportation, and leverage our will against those who rob our planet of its wonderful resources. Collectively, we are the most influential, and if I may be so bold, the most powerful group of human beings ever to sit together in one room. The dynamics at work here, over the next two-and-a-half days, should not be lost on you.
“I beseech you to consider libelous and untrustworthy media sources that have nothing more than their own self-interests at heart. They are the worst kind of enemy. I beg you to pressure those individuals seeking to invade a country whose defenses are no better than a child’s play-house, desiring nothing more than the country’s natural resources, to change their minds. You can affect change by withholding your generous funds that so many of us gladly hand out in hopes that we might somehow help a starving child or bring water to a parched settlement.
“Alone, few of us have a reach beyond our own limited legislative and judicial elements of government, but together we can shape and mold a world that will have at its very center, prosperity, food, water, and general sustenance for each occupant. We, my friends, have at our disposal unlimited capital that will help pave a future we have only dreamt of and prayed for. The leverage we have in our own country’s media and government is incredible and should be expounded upon to the point that our collective desire will be felt.
“We will not rest until we eliminate the old, outdated means of life and bring about a course correction that will forever alter humanity in such a way that there are no more wars, petty squabbling over what isn’t really ours anyway, and the ability to kill without forethought. I hope you will each stand with me in this endeavor.
“Now, I would like to introduce our first speaker, the revered Dr. Anthony Little, United States Surgeon General!”
Applause erupted around the room as the attendants rose to their feet. The speaker, Simon Trowton nodded his head and raised a hand in appreciation of the reception he was receiving. Several extended anxious hands in hopes of making contact with the articulate speaker. Others patted him on the back and shouted exultations about his wonderful opening speech.
Trowton pressed through the envious throng of people, shaking hands and smiling along the way. A tall, thin black man walked toward him, others around him understanding his relative level of importance. His infectious smile, tried, practiced and perfected over the previous years, shone brilliantly, compliments of numerous rounds of bleach whitener all on the taxpayer’s dime. He offered his hand to Trowton, placing his left on the man’s back.
“Well said, well said, Simon. I would love to have some time alone with you to understand your ideas regarding the change you spoke of. Could we arrange a meeting?”
“I will check my schedule, Mr. President. I’m certain that my calendar isn’t so full that it would prevent me from sitting with an affluent, influential individual such as yourself,” Trowton replied with his own bright smile.
The two men shared a laugh, each knowing full well if the President of the United States desired a meeting, a meeting would be had. Secretly, however, Trowton knew the President, while exceptionally powerful, was nothing more than a puppet. It was the individuals handling and pulling his strings with whom he wanted to confer.
Trowton continued making his way through the mass of glad-handers and applause. A tall, athletic looking
man with close cropped blonde hair, also attired in an expensive suit, awaited him by the back door. He placed his hand on the man’s back and the two exited The Amber Room.
They stepped into the open atrium, richly designed with soft curtains and perfectly placed seventeenth century murals depicting angelic scenes and gloriously lush landscapes. Plush furniture was strategically positioned, offering sitters little anonymity but plenty of space from other patrons who might also choose to sit or stand. Dark blue carpet muffled footsteps while completing the delicate ambiance the decorator desired.
The pair continued walking toward a darker corner of the large room, away from the large double doors that opened from the banquet hall and away from anyone who might wander into the area in search of a restroom. Trowton turned and faced the man as he reached inside his jacket and produced a letter sized manila envelope.
“Jannick, inside this envelope are twelve separate invitations I need you to hand out to those whose names appear on them. You must do so quietly and discreetly. Understood?”
“Understood, Mr. Trowton. May I be so bold as to ask what they are invited to attend?”
A slight glower appeared on Trowton’s face. Just as quickly as it materialized he composed himself. Not a man who enjoyed being questioned by anyone, he lifted his chin and offered a silent response, his answer blatantly obvious, even as his features smoothed.
Jannick nodded, silently acknowledging Trowton’s contempt for his question. He turned and walked back to the venue, stopping only long enough to open one of the large doors and quietly slip back inside.