I headed straight for the airport in Kunming: City of Eternal Spring. Nonstop night buses and pickup trucks, concrete mattresses and bamboo skewers became a blur. I raced with zero regard for the codes of espionage. I was going to Thailand to rescue My True Love, and any agent that got in my way would be greeted with neck-snaps and karate chops to the throat.
I listened for more transmissions on the way to the airport, but without Roi’s guidance, everything seemed garbled into noises that were impossible to figure out. Jack must have caught onto the leak and started using a different channel. For the time being, I was left with an echoing wire-tap, looping over and over in the basement of my mind, cigarettes burning all night, analyzing sound waves. It could just be another one of Jack’s games, but the thought of her in his arms was too much. I decided to buy a one-way ticket to Bangkok. Unless I succeeded, and unless my instincts were correct, I’d be found guilty of abandoning my mission, and would never be able to step foot on American soil again. I’d be branded a traitor, charged with treason, conspiracy to assassinate a world leader, and my files would be opened to investigation, a fine-tooth comb run over my every thought and communication.
It was possible that this was all part of his trap to frame me, make me the fall guy, my demise tied up in a neat little package to cover his trail. But what if he did have her? My True Love kidnapped — a new level in his sick game. I decided it was time to kick Jack from some high elevation overlooking the ocean. I could already see him falling and making a distant splash — My True Love and I looking down wondering if he was really dead this time — an underwater explosion confirming the kill in a blast of ocean spray. With Jack terminated, the Dalai Lama would be safe, and I would follow up on the final clues I received from Jack in one of his sudden confessions where he tells me just enough to make me realize it’s deeper than either of us can imagine. I’d send my report along with Roi’s flash drive dutifully to Interpol, thereby regaining my status as agent, my name cleared; the experiment they’ve done on me forgiven, but not forgotten. And in the final scene, on a paradise island together with My True Love, a kiss.
I stood before the ticketing counter, looked at the departure sign, and saw two incoming flights ready to be announced side by side: New Delhi and Bangkok. Both slots were blinking at the same time. I felt the entire airport watching me, the video being streamed right into the highest offices of Interpol as well as the Chinese Ministry of Defense, the coffee steam rising quietly in the tension of the moment as we all realize the gravity of this decision. I held the money in my hand and wondered what would happen if I was wrong. It could be the other way around. Jack could just be luring me away from the Dalai Lama so that I won’t be there to save him. That would make more sense, now that I think about it. There was only one way to decide. Whichever came first, that was the sign.
India.
FUCK!
WHY? WHY CAN I NOT BE WITH MY TRUE LOVE? WHY ME?
I calmed down and regrouped in KFC. By the time I had polished off a two-piece, I realized a third possibility: that I’ve been weaponized from the very beginning. Didn’t Jack say something about the package being strapped and ready to blow? Was I the package? Of course! Even if I were to try to warn the Dalai Lama face to face, my brain is so wired with triggers that I’ll react in an instant without even being aware of it. There won’t be a gun. It’ll only be me, implanted with this chip and armed with these skills for a final design. All it needs is a switch, a trigger, which Jack can turn on any time.
I quickly accessed the internet and found His Holiness’ mailing address and the consulate that represents him. I bought a postcard that said, “Kunming: City of Eternal Spring,” and wrote this message:
Oh Most Benevolent One,
Hello. I do not wish to alarm you, but what I am about to write may sound shocking. You may get death threats all the time — I don’t know. However, I feel a moral obligation to let you know that your life may be in danger. There is a plot to assassinate you for reasons which are too complex to explain here. However, it is important that you know there is a conspiracy that threatens Your Holiness’ safety. Do not trust anyone who says his name is Jack, but is actually Sam, or says his name is Sam, but is actually Jack.
In addition, it is possible that I have been brainwashed to assassinate you myself, so I am making an effort to stay as far away from you as possible. I am heading to Thailand to find My True Love, so please stay away from Thailand for at least a couple of months. I will update you with my travel plans if necessary. Let’s not meet or I may do something regretful.
Yours,
Sam
Satisfied with the message and my penmanship, I rolled like Jonah toward the ticket counter and left Nineveh behind. I made my decision. I was ignoring a direct order from Interpol, a clear sign. But I had to do this my way. Besides, who knew how many agents at Interpol were compromised? If the conspiracy against the Dalai Lama was as big as I feared, it meant all trust was out the window. I had just enough cash in my wad for a one-way ticket. About a hundred dollars and a handful of mottled coins remained. I took my ticket and ran towards customs, hoping they wouldn’t find the flash drive stashed in the secret pocket of my underwear.
I stood before a desk with three officials seated behind it. There was no TSA in China. It was more like a tribunal. Any foreigners were deemed suspicious and sent to a different line. A moment ago they had been laughing it up, waving passengers through without a care. Now they’d become rigid and full of scrutiny. Or was it just me?
My heart was beating like it was on fire. The strategy was never about preparation, but a ballsy rush to the front, a foolhardy charge! A super-soldier of excessive size and nutriment peered at me hard from under the black brim of his hat. He spoke curtly as I stood before him like an invalid with a dimwitted smile. He said it again, this time in a tone that sounded like he could sharpen a bayonet with his teeth.
“Wo ai ni?”
He shoved a piece of paper in my face. Written on the paper, in three different languages, were instructions to present paperwork, visa, and passport. I had forgotten the Red State demanded paperwork for arrival and departure. I considered for a moment pretending to understand none of these languages. But the look on Yao Ming’s face suggested I begin searching.
Another officer stepped forward to see what the holdup was, and the three of us began turning my rucksack inside-out, flipping it upside down while they used flashlights to help scour a pile of dirty laundry for what seemed to be a very evasive little document.
“No, that’s not it. . . wait, here’s something. . . no, that’s just my wallet . . hold on . . . I think I got something. . . wait, nope, just my wallet again . .”
I felt them preparing to beat me like a gong. I reached into my back pocket where I‘d prepared 100 yuan and slipped it casually into the pages of my passport. Easy does it.
The super-soldiers continued squinting at my passport, holding the money in the air, looking at it as if it was this strange object they had never seen before. An item of much interest.
“Whoops. How did that get in there?”
Together they shined their lights in my face. Everything went white. Incredibly, instead of beating me with sticks like a pile of wet laundry, I saw their arms stretching out from heaven to lead me towards the metal detectors. I was on my way, as free as a rogue agent could be, to spread my wings like an eagle ready to fly.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
“Sir, please empty your pocket. And take off your belt—”
RUN!
I bolted for the door, pushed an old man out of the way and jumped over children. I knocked over airport security and flipped over a baggage cart, and vanished between the sliding doors, the forfeited ticket flying loose from my bandaged palm.
What the hell just happened? What went wrong? It was as if the Dalai Lama himself were watching and saw my treachery. He pressed the buzzer. EEEHHH! WRONG!
I crouched behind a dumpster and wept with shame.
After a few moments of sobbing at my own treachery, the backdoor of a seafood restaurant opened and a chef dumped a load of rotting fish. I covered my face with my hands to shield my nose from the smell, and then it hit me. I lowered my hands from my eyes and stared in horror and amazement at my mummy-wrapped hand. My bandaged hand. The surgery. The ticking and throbbing. A time-bomb. The doctor back at the border of Tibet was one of Jack’s agents all along! I knew he was too young to be a real doctor! Wrapped it up all nice and pretty and told me not to get it wet. Damn you, Doogie! Damn you to hell!