Peculiar Worlds and Circular Illusions

by Walter Winch

  * * * *

  I watched as my daughter, along with my eldest grandchild, drove away in the taxi. Their visits with me in Algeciras were always enjoyable, but had become more and more tiring for me each year; however, considering I had just turned eight-four the day before, understandable. My daughter wanted me to return to the United States. But she knew that would never happen. After all, I had been living in Spain for the past twenty years, shortly after Robert died and I inherited his place. My granddaughter has expressed an interest in living here some day. We shall see.

  I closed the wooden shutters and returned to the chair facing the tapestry. Beside me on the table next to my straw hat was the journal, which I picked up, letting my fingers rub across the worn green cover. In 1975 I traveled to Ceuta for a brief visit and went out to the desert one night. I understood then why my father loved it so much.

  He was there, along with my beloved mother. And there were others as well.

  The Shobashi Sanction

  Kobey Karp took a deep breath as the old, converted B-17 neared its target. He braced himself, turned the handle and pushed the door aside. Stars twinkled in the clear night sky, and five thousand feet below the populace slept. Kobey turned to Leonard Lester and Karen Pelt, who stood behind him. "The pool will be below us in two minutes," he shouted above the roar of the plane's engines. "Let's get it right."

  Leonard and Karen began to move the one-hundred-and-fifty pound sea turtle closer to the open cargo bay door. The giant turtle was now poised at the edge of the doorway. As if seeking some assurance, the turtle glanced up at Kobey and blinked. Kobey patted the head of the old turtle. "Henry, you can. I know it." The turtle blinked once more and turned its head to the open doorway. Kobey nodded to his companions.

  Leonard and Karen, with grim expressions on their faces, got down on their knees and slowly pushed Henry toward his rendezvous. A moment later the giant turtle hung in the air for a split second. Then he dropped from sight. Kobey yanked the door closed and the plane banked sharply to its right. He clapped one hand over his earphones and held his watch in front of him. One minute went by, then two— "Say that again, Cap," Kobey said into his mike.

  He sensed his own excitement when Captain Nestor Wayne, the plane's squint-eye, special ops pilot repeated what he'd just said. Kobey gave the thumbs up to Leonard and Karen. "Henry landed dead center in Shobashi's swimming pool," Kobey shouted.

  He felt the tightness in his throat. Only a week before, the mission was nearly canceled. Five turtles were lost because they had missed the designated pools and splattered on the ground. Animal rights activists within the agency were furious and demanded that the "senseless carnage" be stopped at once.

  Even though Kobey himself was an animal lover, who had lost his small house pig to a peptic ulcer, he was convinced the plan was essential and workable. He succeeded in convincing the policy-planning committee that by reducing air speed by five knots, dropping 1,500 feet in altitude, and giving the turtles an extra two pounds of weight, they could safely and accurately land in the swimming pools.

  Within a day five more turtles jumped and landed successfully in pools throughout the area. Henry's jump, the most difficult, was the last. The diversionary tactic had succeeded. Stage two could be implemented.

  The following week Kobey, Leonard and Karen pulled up at the Xerxes Motor Lodge on route 6-6-6 not far from the Bailey Brothers Tree Farm. They had reserved separate rooms.

  Kobey opened his door with a tarnished brass key, entered and found himself in a large circular shower stall. He was somewhat irritated because he had hoped to take a short nap before dinner. It was not, however, the shower stall that bothered him the most, but the fact there was no telephone in the stall. Nevertheless, Kobey resolved to take his nap regardless. He pulled the pink plastic curtain around the stall and within a few minutes fell into a deep and undisturbed sleep.

  They dined at the Tivoli Lounge Club & Spa. Their Japanese waiter eyed them suspiciously but Kobey, in fluent Japanese, assured him that they would leave a generous tip as they were on government expense accounts. Karen ordered steak tartar, Leonard decided on a Caesar salad with a side order of sardines, and Kobey got a meringue milkshake.

  "Kob, what do you think we should do next?" Leonard said.

  "I've got a hell of a stiff neck," Karen remarked. "There was a draft in my shower stall."

  "Know what you mean," Kobey said. "I think we better get over to Shiatsu's house and set up the camera and listening devise."

  "Whose house?" Karen said.

  "Shiatsu's?"

  "I think you mean Shobatsu's house," said Leonard.

  "Shobashi's," Kobey corrected. "Anyway, if we get there by eight-thirty we should have plenty of time."

  "The SWAT team will start their coordinated attacks in the area at precisely 11:32," Karen said. She adjusted her sawed-off-twelve-gauge shotgun, which hung by a strap inside her alpaca jacket.

  Forty-five minutes later Leonard turned off the car's engine and coasted to the side of the road, finally coming to a stop behind some bramble bushes. "How's this?" Leonard said.

  "Looks good, buddy," said Kobey. "You ready?" he said turning to the back seat.

  "All set, Kobey." Karen adjusted the sawed-off-twelve-gauge shotgun hanging from inside her jacket.

  From the trunk of the car, Kobey took out the camera and tripod as well as the battery pack. Leonard grabbed the listening devise equipment. "Let's be real quiet, " Kobey said. "Intelligence advises they've got close circuit television, as well as microphones embedded in the fencepost."

  "What about pagers?" said Leonard.

  "Who uses pagers, Leonard?" Karen said with just a hint of irritation in her voice.

  "Sorry for asking," Leonard said grabbing up the listening devise equipment and striding off.

  "Leonard is so damn sensitive," Karen said to Kobey.

  "He just wants to please you. I think, well, he likes you."

  Karen adjusted her gun. "And I like Leonard, Kobey."

  "I mean in a more personal way," said Kobey. "You may not be aware of it, but you're a darn attractive woman. Let's go."

  "Really?"

  In a few minutes the three of them knelt behind some birch trees. Through the foliage they observed the large, split-level, cream-colored house, which had been built by Frank Lloyd Wright in the mid-forties. No one was in sight. Kobey set up the camera. "I'm going to get closer," he said in a whisper. "I want to plant the bug right under that picture window. That should be the conference room."

  "Be careful, Kob." Leonard said.

  "I'll keep you covered." From inside her alpaca jacket Karen pulled out her sawed-off-twelve-gauge shotgun.

  "Geez, that's a beauty, Karen. That baby just glistens," Leonard said.

  "Yeah. I clean and polish my twelve-gauge every day."

  "What kind of polish do you—"

  Let's keep our minds on the goal," Kobey interrupted. He couldn't help notice the admiring stare Leonard directed at both Karen and her gun. "Okay, watch my back."

  As quietly as possible Kobey ran in a crouch and crawled on his belly until he was directly under the large conference room window. From his pocket he pulled out the bug and placed it beneath the window ledge. It's just too quiet around here he decided after a few minutes.

  Kobey was debating with himself what to do next when he heard muffled voices from around the front of the house. He inched his way slowly to the corner and peered out. Two no-neck bodyguards stood at the far edge of the patio, their backs to him. It took a moment before he realized the two sociopaths were urinating, apparently trying to hit something below.

  With a mixture of contempt and disgust, Kobey eased his way back to the conference room window. He heard the sound of a door opening inside and then several loud voices. He pressed his ear against the side of the house and listened. He knew Leonard would pick up the conversation with his amplifier.

  A minute later Kobey sat straight up. It couldn't be.
But he knew who it was he overheard. Kenko Shobashi himself was in the conference room! The linchpin of global organized crime. The banker for every terrorist on the planet. Cautiously he pulled himself up, wanting to get a glimpse of who was in the room.

  At first it was impossible to identify anyone. Ten or fifteen people stood in a circle staring at something on the floor. Yes, an entity of some sort moved. Were they torturing a poor unfortunate? One of the cave dwellers stepped aside to reach for a drink that a scantily clad young lady had carried in on a tray. Then someone else moved away from the circle.

  Kobey nearly yelled out when he saw who it was. On the floor with a small raised wooden tray in front of him was the giant sea turtle. It was the stalwart hero Henry. And there was what appeared to be small pieces of food on the tray. Henry nibbled one and then reached for another. It looked like, well, it appeared to be sushi that Henry was sampling.

  Kobey hesitated for only a minute. The element of surprise was always the most effective way. And who would ever guess that someone would do what he, Kobey Karp, was about to. He only hoped that Leonard and Karen had their wits about them.

  He headed around to the patio where the front door was. The thugs were now tossing quarters against the side of the barbecue pit. "What's happening guys?" Kobey said with a broad smile on his face.

  Confusion spread across the faces of the louts. "Hey, who are—"

  "Who's winning?" said Kobey bounding up the steps and reaching the front door.