by Bob Frank
“Pema, we are going into hiding. The FBI is helping us. You have to get away. Can you do that? Is there anything we can do to help you?”
“No, no. You just go hide for now. You are destined to go on. You must not die, do you hear me? You are destined to continue. You cannot let them kill you. Do not worry about me. I have help from our associates. They will care for me. Go now, please.” The sobbing continued on the far end of the phone.
Shali choked back the tears and whimpered, “We will. You take care of yourself. Wait, how do we get in touch with you?”
The sobbing continued, and then there was a click as Pema hung up the phone.
Shali slowly lowered the cell phone from her ear and snapped it shut, and stared at her trembling hand.
Silence permeated the room for several minutes until Clay said, “Yongten’s dead, isn’t he?”
Shali nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Yes. They almost got Pema, too. She was just lucky.”
Clay’s anger came out. “Damn it. We should have called them after the car bomb.”
After a few seconds, Shali said, “Yes, but don’t lay another guilt trip on yourself. We have been underestimating these jerks from the beginning, whoever they are. They are getting aggressive now. We’ve got to get the hell out of sight.”
Clay snapped back, “Yeah, but we need to find out who they are.”
“There’s time for that later. First, we have a job to do. If they find out about Tommy and Sogui, they will probably silence them too.”
* * * ~~~ * * *
The next day Clay and Shali secretly packed their lives into a large non-descript semi-trailer truck and rode off into the night. Regardless of who or what this organization was, they intended to continue their work in underground modus operandi. New cell phones were arranged under alias names, and corporate credit cards were opened under an anonymous Swiss corporation. Their Silicon Valley homes were closed up and moth-balled. They leased side-by-side inconspicuous condos in San Diego, which became their home and office for the time being. They just hoped that whoever was trying to stop them would not be able to trace them to San Diego.
Two weeks after the move, they were completely set up and back to work their new condo.
Shali said, “The translator finalized the seven surviving books. There’s nothing new, although many of the translations came out like gobbledy-goop. It has to be the coding to disguise whatever they were writing. I’ll bet our three Tibetan buddies could have translated right through the code by rote. They could probably think or dialogue in the code. Remember Ezra Pound’s poetry that we found when regressing Iqbal? Or Jabir’s gibberish? I looked up copies of their writings: it’s the same cryptic garbage. Either these people were all horrible writers, or they figured out how to encode their secrets in the text. It’s the same with Kabbalah’s Zohar. Its encoded secrets are supposedly embedded inside of ancient Aramaic, probably the same kind of code. We will have to learn to think in this code before we can really understand the translation of the writings.”
Clay added, “It doesn’t sound like these books are going to get us very far. I’m confident if we find another set of writings, we’re going to find custodians that can help translate and interpret the text for us.”
“With Yongten now gone and Pema going underground, their secret group of good guys are not going to be able to help us much.”
“Yeah, so let’s just get on with the search.”
* * * ~~~ * * *
They traveled back to Kidwelly, Wales, to run another regression on Tommy. After the regression session, they met for a lager at the pub next to the hotel.
Clay said, “Well, as I suspected, Dolpopa was indeed part of the organization that controlled the hidden writings in Tibet. He was fully aware of the hiding location in the Tsipri caves, but neither the soul nor the guide gave us any of that during earlier regressions.”
Shali replied, “But I’d say we know a lot more now and asked better questions.”
Clay paused. “But neither the soul nor the guide ‘fessed up to knowing anything about another set of hidden writings, despite my constant probes.”
“I think we’re dead-ended on Tommy. It’s time to head back to Panama.”
Clay nodded. “What’s the scoop on Sogui?”
“I’ve arranged to meet her again. Unfortunately, she had a relapse of malaria and has not been doing well. She agreed to do the regression but we have to go to her home in San Blas. She just can’t make the flight to Panama City.”
“Should we just wait a few weeks?”
“She doesn’t want to wait. She would like us to go there now. She said she has a few more tapes she recorded while remembering details of her previous lives. That’s in addition to the twenty-one tapes she already sent us.”
Clay’s face grew a huge grin. “I read the transcripts. She picked up fantastic details. I’ve been thinking we should use Protocol 73 more often.”
“Yes, but only under very controlled conditions.” Shali’s face turned serious and her voice dropped low. “Do you think they know about Sogui? Could they possibly target her?”
Clay sat back in his chair, eyes turning to peer out the window as if searching for something. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but all the more reason to get down there as fast as possible.”
“The most momentous thing in human life is the art of winning the soul to good or evil.”
Pythagoras
Chapter 30
San Blas Islands, Panama
The smell of ocean and outboard motor fumes seemed more prominent on this boat trip. Clay and Shali’s boat wove through the lagoons between the small island airport to Sogui’s island home on Nargana.
Midway, Clay yelled to Shali over the roar of the engine, “Good thing we got this bigger boat.”
Shali yelled back, “Yeah, but even at that we’re getting salt spray. But the spray won’t hurt our equipment through these shipping cases. If those canoes had tipped over last time, I don’t think the equipment would have survived.”
Clay lifted his sunglasses and looked intently out toward the open water of the Caribbean. He squinted, pointed and asked Shali. “What’s that boat? It’s moving like hell toward us.”
Shali spun around in her seat to see. After staring several seconds she replied, “It’s a cigarette boat, and it’s moving fast. I can hear the engines screaming even this far away.” She turned to the dark-skinned Kuna driving the boat. His hand was resting on his hand-held radio. He, too, was intently watching the oncoming race boat. She asked him in Spanish, “What’s that?”
He looked back with a huge smile and replied, “Oh, just drug runners from Columbia. No big deal; we see them all the time. I already called it in.”
As he said that, two military-style dinghy patrol boats came screaming across the lagoon from the large island they had just passed. They were heading in their direction.
Shali yelled back to the driver, “And what’s that?”
The driver yelled his reply to the big-eyed passengers. “Hola! The good guys. We’re going to have a show. This should be a good one; it’s two to one.”
As their boat bounced along the waves, they watched the three other boats rapidly converge on their position.
Shali tapped Clay’s leg and yelled over the engine’s roar, “Look!” She pointed at the two rapidly approaching navy gray patrol boats. The boats sported both a Panamanian and the Kuna flag on the back with the black swastika angrily flapping in the wind. Mounted on the front of each boat was a .50 caliber machine gun, each with a sailor desperately hanging on so not to be thrown out of the boat.
The racing boats continued converging directly on them, with the drug runners taking the edge and closing in fast. Clay and Shali’s boat now seemed to sputter along compared to the speeds of the three converging speed boats. All three on board began to grow concerned and fidgeted as they bounced around on the seats.
Shali yelled to the driver, “Why do they
keep coming at us?”
The driver yelled back, “This is not right. Not good; not good. They usually stay away. You better get down in the bottom of the boat.”
At that moment, as the cigarette boat came within range, two men popped out of the top and leaned over the windshield with hand held machine guns.
“Son of a bitch!” Clay yelled in near panic. “Shali, it’s not drug runners, it’s the assholes who have been trying to kill us. They’re coming for us. Get down!” Clay leapt across the boat seat, grabbed Shali and dragged her to the bottom of the boat beneath him.
They saw bullet splashes tracing toward them and heard pings as the bullets pierced holes all along the side of their boat. A fraction of a second later came the delayed rattatat of the guns firing. The driver jerked the boat hard to the left and then right to take any evasive maneuvers possible. Seconds later more bursts and bullets sprayed around their boat, but this time the bullets hit the boat at the waterline. Salty water began to spray through holes along the bottom edge of the boat. Shali could taste the brine of the spray and licked it off of her lips.
Then came loud firing thunks from the two .50 caliber machine guns mounted on the swastika-flag-bearing patrol boats. In the next instant, the assaulters blasted past the front of their boat, sending a huge plume of salt-water washing across all three of them. They could see the two gunmen spinning their machine guns over the top and side of the boat as they passed, still sporadically shooting at them. Water spouts jumped up all around them from the bullets that missed the target.
Seconds later the two patrol boats shot past them with roaring engines, blasting guns and waving flags. One patrol boat screamed past them just in front of their boat. Another cascade of water washed over Clay and Shali.
As the second patrol boat approached along the rear, Clay and Shali’s driver stuck his right arm in the air and began stomping his feet on the bottom of the boat. He screamed out something in the native Kuna language and made exaggerated motions with his right arm. That patrol boat flew across their wake just behind the driver. Salt spray again cascaded over the boat, which was now wildly bouncing around from the wakes of the three passing speed boats. As that patrol boat continued away in pursuit of the assaulters, the driver of the patrol boat briefly looked back, then mimicked the waving, stomping and screaming.
Now sprawled on his hands and knees in the bottom of the boat, Clay yelled to Shali, “An old Kuna war dance. I sure as hell hope it works.”
They both stuck their heads slightly up to see what was going on. The cigarette boat and the two Kuna patrol boats were now locked in a wave-jumping, circular death dance, guns blasting away from all three boats.
In the close setting, the cigarette boat was no match for cross-firing .50 calibers. Both gunmen took bullet hits from the patrol boat and fell into the boat’s cockpit, no longer firing back. Pieces of shattered fiberglass and windshield flew off of the assailants’ boat as it careened back out toward the open sea, under pursuit. However, the patrol boats could not keep up with the open-water speed of its souped-up engines, even in its shot up condition.
The two patrol boats quickly gave up the pursuit and turned back to check on Clay, Shali and the driver. Fortunately, none of them, nor their regression equipment, had been hit or damaged. The patrol boats escorted them to the dock on Nargana.
* * * ~~~ * * *
They settled into the Nargana guest house after shaking out the adrenaline high of the afternoon’s shoot out. Sitting on the beach at sunset, Clay said to Shali in a low monotone voice, “They found us — and her.”
“I know.”
They were thinking of their arrival at the dock when the island’s Sahila told them they have never seen an attack like this. The drug runners occasionally threaten villagers and leaders, but never blindly attacked. But they knew the attack had nothing to do with drugs.
After a few moments, Clay added, “But we should be alright for now. They put on more security here and increased patrol security around the islands. The problem may be when we leave.”
“Who the hell are these people anyway? Is there anybody they can’t buy?”
Clay slowly shook his head and stared at the sunset. Not another word was said that evening.
* * * ~~~ * * *
Mid-day the next day they went to Sogui’s house. She was feeling much better and said she was ready for the regression again. After an hour of typical Latin socialization, the three of them sat on her patio sharing the beautiful view looking out across the Caribbean.
Sogui said to her two visitors, “I saw the news about the bombing in Washington. I am so sorry. I have to say, I know more than anyone in the world what was destroyed that night. For the last six months since we were last together, I have remembered so much from these lives. I remembered the scrolls and books, and I remembered the secrets. I wanted so badly to see these writings again.”
Shali reached over and gently touched Sogui’s arm. “Perhaps we can find another copy of the writings for you.”
“That would be nice, mi Amiga. When I sit on the beach at night and meditate as the stars shine above, the words and meaning become clearer in my mind. Plus I know now that I have lived so many lives, and I hope many more to come.”
They talked for another hour, then had a quiet, early dinner brought in by Sogui’s family. During dessert, Sogui asked, “So I heard you had a little excitement coming to Nargana from the airport. Are you doing alright?”
Shali glanced at Clay before answering. “Yes, we did have trouble. The Sahila told us that this was unusual so we think they may have been trying to kill us. Perhaps they were paid by the same people who planted the bomb in Washington.”
Sogui smiled and nodded her head. “No doubt. Someone has been poking around here for several weeks trying to find out about you. However, our community is small and protective, so they did not get much from our people. We knew something was up. That’s why our two patrol boats were waiting and so close to you.”
Clay added, “They probably paid off someone. That would be easy to do. But we’re more worried about you. If they knew what you know, they will be going after you.”
“Don’t worry; they don’t know about me yet. Besides, we have our Nazi PT Boats. Isn’t that what you call our coastal security force?” She laughed out loud at the surprised expression on her friends’ faces.
Flushed with embarrassment and smiling, Clay said, “Alright, we will not worry about the bad guys getting to you. But we are worried about regressing you. Are you sure you are well enough?”
“Absolutely.”
Shali said, “You should get some rest then. Clay and I will come back early tomorrow to start the regression. But maybe tonight we’ll try some of your Nargana beach meditation.”
She leaned to Shali and whispered, “If I had my Solomon, here, we would be on the beach — but not meditating. You should try it.” She winked at Shali.
Shali whispered back, “I have tried it,” and then nodded her head toward Clay. “But we have a busy day tomorrow and need rest, so not tonight.”
The two of them giggled like high-school girls.
As Clay and Shali walked along the beach on the way to their bungalow, Clay said, “Sogui realizes the precariousness of her situation. She is still pretty weak, you know. If we regress her before she is fully recovered from this bout of malaria, it could cause her condition to worsen.”
“Yes, and she knows that if she has another regression run-in like she did with Hypatia, she might not survive this time.”
“But if she dies before she is fully regressed, the truth may never be known, at least, not to us. We will lose our big chance. And remember, if she does see the secrets in this regression, she will need time to help us understand the meaning and translation of those secrets.”
“Then we’ll have to coax it out quickly but gently. She has not been able to find another set of writings in her beach-side meditation recordings. If she is still doing well after di
gging for another set of writings, maybe we can try asking for some of the secrets directly. You know, ask the right questions.”
“Agreed. Although, she seems convinced that her soul or guide can help us find another set of the writings.”
Shali grabbed Clay’s arm, “I would still like to use Protocol 75, just to be conservative and avoid a flashback. Don’t let her remember these regressions, Clay.”
“I know what you’re saying, but she really wants to remember. That was her sole condition. Plus look at all of the details she has recalled in the past months after the first regressions. We could never get that level of detail with Protocol 75.”
“I understand. But we have to stay focused on the guide and avoid Hypatia’s life altogether.”
“We’ll pull the plug on the regression if there is any danger whatsoever. It’s good that you arranged for the island nurse to be on standby at the island’s medical clinic, just in case.”
“Let’s just hope we won’t need her.”
Chapter 31
The next morning after breakfast, Shali and Clay chatted while sitting on the patio outside their bungalow. Clay took a sip of his sweet, rich, black Panamanian coffee. “Just listen to the ocean swooshing on the beach. So relaxing.”
Shali pulled her head back and covered her mouth to hold in a belch. “You mean in between the fried plantain and corn meal cakes?”
Clay looked at her and chuckled. “Come on, you were nursed on curry. This is nothing for you.”
“Then it must be the chorizo sausage.”
Clay sipped his coffee again. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, but I insist on doing the regression. You’re too aggressive at times, and you might not pull the plug quick enough if we run into problems with Hypatia again.”
“Alright, you take the lead.”
They both walked up the street to Sogui’s house and after a hearty morning welcome at the door, they went into the house and set up for the session. Clay started the recording equipment and tested it to ensure it was working properly. He then set up the Wi-Fi connection for the laptop and connected to the Internet. Sogui was already sitting in her favorite lounge chair and fidgeting with the headphones and goggles. Shali chatted with Sogui as she hooked up all of the regression gadgetry.