Lunatics (25 page)

So the situation was, I was in this insane mob, leaning over, yanking on my foot, which was not budging, with all these screaming people running past me, bumping into me. Then I heard a new sound, a motor. A
big
motor, really close. And a noise like
clank clank
clank
.

So I stood up, and there it was, right in front of me, just a few yards away.

A fucking tank.

The size of a three-car garage.

Coming straight at me.

Clank clank clank . . .

The crowd was now completely cleared out of the way. It was just me and the tank, which was close enough that I could reach out and touch it.

“HEY!” I said, banging on the hood, or whatever you call the front part of a tank. “STOP!”

The tank kept coming.

Clank clank clank . . .

Now I'm pounding like a maniac and shouting, “STOP! PLEASE! STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP
STOPPPPP
!!”

The tank bumped against my chest. I was absolutely sure I was about to become a human tortilla. All I could think, in what I truly believed were the last seconds of my life, was,
Why couldn't it be Horkman who got his foot caught?

And then, all of a sudden, the tank stopped.

For a few seconds, nobody moved. It was just me standing there with the tank touching my chest, and all these Chinese standing around in a big circle, watching. Nobody said a word. It was totally silent, except for a sound like
prrbbbt
, which was the Mickey Mantle rookie card squirting out of my ass. Go ahead, judge me. Let's see how
your
bowels handle a fucking tank.

The silence went on for maybe ten seconds, until it became clear the tank wasn't starting up again. And then the crowd went nuts. They all came charging forward, smiling and shouting, swarming around me and the tank. A bunch of hands grabbed me. I yelled, “HEY! MY FOOT IS STUCK!” But they lifted me straight up, and the way they did it yanked my foot loose.

Next thing I knew they were carrying me over their heads. I was yelling, “PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN, GODDAMMIT!” But they paid no attention. They were like a bunch of ants carrying a dropped particle of corn dog. I don't mean that in a racial way, the ants thing. I mean it in the sense of, even if a corn dog particle doesn't want to be carried, the ants don't give a shit.

I heard a voice yelling, “PECKERMAN! PECKERMAN!” I looked down and saw Horkman reaching for me. The crowd realized we were together, but instead of putting me down, they lifted
him
up, too. Now we were both bouncing around up there like the bride and groom at some kind of nightmare Jewish wedding where the guests were all Chinese and batshit crazy. From that height I could see that the tank that almost ran me over was the beginning of a long line of tanks, which were all stopped and being swarmed over by thousands of people. There were people in every direction, no end to them, all waving and yelling at me and Horkman.

The crowd started passing us along overhead, from one set of hands to the next. They also started chanting something—something about a phantom, it sounded like, but I couldn't make it out. I also couldn't figure out how to make them put me the fuck down.

I looked back at Horkman, bouncing along on top of the crowd behind me. Believe it or not, he was
smiling
.

“Isn't this
exhilarating
?” he shouted.

Seriously, could there possibly be a bigger asshole?

CHAPTER 50

The NBC Nightly News

BRIAN WILLIAMS:
Good evening. After their brilliant triumphs in Cuba, Somalia, and the Middle East, it seemed impossible that international activists Philip Horkman and Jeffrey Peckerman would be able to top themselves. Now, incredibly, they have. This time the
Fantasmas de la Noche
—the Ghosts of the Night—struck in China, and the result is nothing short of world-changing. What you're looking at now are live images from Tiananmen Square in the heart of Beijing, where a crowd estimated in the millions—that's right,
millions
—has been celebrating all night, with no sign of stopping. There are joyful throngs like this gathered in cities all over China, which is experiencing a peaceful pro-democracy upheaval at a speed and on a scale unprecedented in modern history. And it all began with a single act—an act of great courage; an act that resonated deeply with the Chinese people; an act that inspired what is being called the Blanket Revolution. For more on this astonishing story we go to NBC China correspondent Judith Smith, in Tiananmen Square. Judith?

SMITH:
Brian, yesterday began as an ordinary day in Beijing, but it took an extraordinary turn. At about two p.m. local time, China was attacked by a fast-spreading computer virus that, among other things, severely disrupted the power grid and wiped out the government's ability to monitor and control Internet and telephone communications. In a matter of minutes, China's vast military and police surveillance apparatus was rendered completely blind, and virtually powerless. This triggered an official panic, as the authorities, fearing an attack, ordered troops, tanks, and armored vehicles into the streets of Beijing, which at the same time were rapidly filling with masses of nervous civilians scared out of buildings by the alarms and commotion. And that, Brian, is when it happened: A confrontation between a man and a tank, evoking the iconic encounter that took place here during the 1989 protests. This video, shot on an onlooker's cell phone, shows a man standing alone, directly in front of a line of Chinese army tanks, refusing to move and pounding defiantly on the lead tank. It was a game of chicken with deadly stakes, and in the end, this man, armed only with his courage, triumphed. The tank stopped, the balance was tipped, and a revolution was won. The man who took on that tank—the brave man who would not be moved—has since been identified as none other than Jeffrey Peckerman.

WILLIAMS:
Judith, do you have any information on the odd costume he's wearing?

SMITH:
Brian, the headpiece he's wearing seems to be a traditional kaffiyeh, worn by Arab men. His body is covered by a blanket with the logo of Air China, the official Chinese airline. Experts I've talked to believe this costume is meant as a political statement, symbolizing unity between the people of China and the people of the Middle East in their struggles for democracy.

WILLIAMS:
Fascinating. And what about the other “Ghost of the Night,” Philip Horkman?

SMITH:
He must have been very close by, Brian. This video, taken moments after Peckerman stopped the line of tanks, shows both men being passed hand to hand over the cheering crowd, which at that point had recognized the
Fantasmas de la Noche
and was chanting their nickname. Inspired by Peckerman's display of bravery, the crowd then stormed into and took over government facilities throughout Beijing; they were joined by soldiers and police officers, who put down their weapons and joined the fast-spreading movement. By nightfall, the entire country had been swept up in what the Chinese are now calling
Tan Geming
, or the “Blanket Revolution.” As you can see in the crowd behind me, tonight thousands of people are wearing blankets and homemade kaffiyehs as a tribute to Peckerman and Horkman.

WILLIAMS:
Judith, what about the computer virus? Was that also the work of Horkman and Peckerman?

SMITH:
Nobody knows for certain, Brian, but it certainly seems likely, given the timing, and the level of technical proficiency displayed by these men in their previous operations.

WILLIAMS:
For more on that aspect of the story, we go now to NBC News science and technology correspondent Robert Pearson in Washington. Robert, what can you tell us about the virus that brought China to its knees?

PEARSON:
Brian, nobody here will speak on the record, but sources in the intelligence community tell me that this appears to be the work of a new supervirus that has been rumored to exist, but never seen in action before, called Fruxnet.

WILLIAMS:
Fruxnet?

PEARSON:
Fruxnet, Brian. It's believed to be an extremely sophisticated, highly adaptable virus that inserts itself into target networks wirelessly. It's carried on a tiny microchip incorporating a miniaturized radio receiver/transmitter and power supply so thin that the entire device can be concealed inside something as small as a business card. The device could be activated in a number of ways; for example, by simply bending the card, or warming it to body temperature. When activated, the virus immediately senses and penetrates any nearby networks. Once it gets inside, it quickly replicates itself and mutates as necessary until it has totally taken over. The effects, as we saw in China, are swift, and utterly devastating.

WILLIAMS:
Do we have any idea who developed this virus, and how Horkman and Peckerman would have obtained it?

PEARSON:
That's a murky area, Brian. All we really know is that whoever developed it must have extremely advanced programming capabilities. The U.S. is believed to be doing top-secret work in this area, as are Israel, North Korea, Russia, Japan, and no doubt other nations as well. It's also possible that another kind of sophisticated, extremely powerful and obsessively secretive international entity is behind this whole thing.

WILLIAMS:
You don't mean . . .

PEARSON:
That's right, Brian: Google.

WILLIAMS:
My God.

PEARSON:
I'm told Apple may be working on something similar, but with a cleaner design.

WILLIAMS:
Thank you, Robert. As news of the developments in China spread, spontaneous demonstrations of support broke out in cities around the world. You're looking now at live video from Times Square, where a huge crowd has gathered, many people wearing blankets and traditional Arab headpieces. Many are also carrying photographs of Horkman and Peckerman, who are now unarguably the two most famous men on Earth, with worldwide legions of worshipful followers. Their faces are everywhere; their names are on everyone's lips—and yet no one knows where they are. For once again, as they have after each previous exploit, the
Fantasmas de la Noche
have vanished. They possess a seemingly magical ability to turn up where they are needed. The question is, where will they be needed next?

CHAPTER 51

Philip

We were inside a crate.

I think that bears repeating. After the events that took place in Tiananmen Square, Peckerman and I spent the next two days inside a large wooden crate.

Allow me to explain.

Once those tanks sputtered and died, the mounting excitement of that crowd swelled to the point where the air was charged with the energy of celebration. And though we were in the midst of it all, we couldn't figure out what they were celebrating.

“It's probably New Year's Eve!” shouted Peckerman above the mass hysteria.

“Can't be,” I yelled back. “It's summer.”

“I meant the Chinese New Year!”

“Nope, that's in late January!”

“How about Presidents' Day?”

“China doesn't have presidents.”

“How about go fuck yourself?”

It was during this Talmudic exchange that I noticed the people who were now passing Peckerman from one set of hands to another were wearing red caps. And that they were moving him faster than I was being moved—most likely because none of them, despite their unbridled glee, wanted to be in contact with a bloated body covered only by a pair of fetid BVDs, a turban, and an Air China blanket a millisecond longer than was absolutely necessary.

But then the folks who were passing me along, now curiously sporting red hats as well, started moving me faster. And when I took a slight lead, the Peckerman handlers stepped up their speed and an impromptu race was on—with me and Peckerman now being batted like beach balls from one group of revelers to another and spending more time aloft than in their hands.

But where are we headed? I wondered, because it now felt like this crowd was sending me and Peckerman in a particular direction. As if this race had a finish line.

So I looked ahead and saw, at the north end of the square, beyond the sea of people and stalled tanks, a gate that we were now bearing down on at an accelerating speed. And that we arrived at precisely the same time that a rather large truck pulled up with its rear doors open and, after we were thrown inside, pulled away.

We were now both lying facedown. In the back of a speeding rather large truck. Not knowing where we were going. I just assumed that, once again, we were being kidnapped.

To say the least, I was upset. A person can be abducted just so many times before it starts wearing on him. He's overcome by fear. Anger. And a depression resulting from the helpless feeling of not having any say in where you're going or what you'll be doing once you get there. Fact was, I no longer controlled any aspect of my life and I felt empty. Sapped of all physical and emotional strength. On the verge of tears, but too weak to cry.

My guess is that
any
human being who'd experienced what I'd been through since this ordeal began would feel similarly. On the other hand, what does someone who isn't a human being feel?

“I'm so hungry I can eat a sorority.”

“Jesus, Peckerman . . .”

“Maybe you'd like some Moo Goo Gai Tits,” said a female voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

So I pushed myself up from the floor of the rather large truck and found myself looking into the face of our Air China flight attendant.

“Huh? Why are
you
here?” I asked her.

“Why is
who
here?” asked Peckerman, who was turning the act of getting off the floor into a Kabuki art form as his unfortunate head was now between his legs.

“You speak English?” I asked her.

“My name is Julie,” she answered, nodding.

Finally, when Peckerman was geometrically able to look in our direction and see who the woman was, his face lit up the way I imagined it did every time he discovered there was more custard than usual in his morning donut.

“I believe this is yours,” he said while removing his Air China blanket and attempting to hand it to her.

Now, to my mind, her reaction (drawing a Luger and threatening to blow Peckerman's head off if he didn't immediately take back the blanket and cover those underpants “with stains dating back to the Ming Dynasty”) was not at all over the top. If anything, I applauded her restraint.

I then asked her to please explain who she really was and to tell us what this was all about.

“I work with Moishe and Shlomo,” she said. “My assignment was to track your movements in China. Those folks in red caps were planted to protect you from the authorities, who were less than thrilled about that little party in Tiananmen Square. And now I'm supposed to make sure your exit from the mainland is swift and without incident. So . . .”

She raised a thumb, and in a hitchhiker's motion indicated an extremely large wooden crate behind her.

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“Get inside,” she said, pointing to the crate again, this time with the Luger.

Peckerman and I stood and walked toward the crate which, according to a manufacturer's label on its side, was for Sub-Zero refrigerators. Its door was wide open, and a vertical plank down the middle divided the inside into equal halves.

I took the compartment on the left, Peckerman the right, and we stood there looking outward as Julie started to close the side that would box us in.

“What are you doing to us?” I asked.

“Not to worry. In twenty-four hours, you'll be thanking me. In the meantime, try to stay as comfortable as possible. There's some food and water in there. If it gets cold, you can cover yourselves with these,” she said, tossing us fresh Air China blankets.

She also handed us pharmaceutical vials that had pills inside. “And, if either of you gets claustrophobic, just take some of these.”

She then closed the side all the way and we heard her nailing it shut.

What happened after that? Well, I'll tell you as much as I can remember. Which means the time before I took a pill and then after I awakened.

Before I took the pill . . .

Just know that I didn't take it to deal with the confined quarters. Fact is, the airholes in the roof of that box were big enough not only for purposes of breathing but allowed me to catch a glimpse, after we were wheeled off the rather large truck, along a flat surface, and then up a ramp, of a few dozen crates that looked just like ours.

And then, everything turned dark. Pitch-black following the sound of a heavy door closing. Followed by more movement and then (I could tell by a new angle that sent me slamming into the side wall of the crate) a liftoff.

It took a few seconds to shake it off, but I was okay.

“We must be on some kind of cargo plane,” I said to Peckerman through the wall that separated us.

No response.

“Peckerman?” I said louder.

Still no answer.

“Peckerman?” I said even louder, as I pounded on the wall.

I wondered if he was hurt. That perhaps when the plane suddenly tilted upward, he was caught off guard, his head hit the wall, and he was knocked unconscious.

“Peckerman! Peckerman! Peckerman!”

Or that he was dead.

“Peckerman! Peckerman! Peckerman!”

I then pressed my ear against the dividing wall and heard the following coming from the other side.

“Jesus, Horkman. Show some fucking respect, will you? I wouldn't make that kind of racket if
you
were shaking hands with the sheriff.”

This was followed by the sounds a man makes during the act of self-induced pleasure. Followed by him shouting “Oh, the humanity!” to herald the arrival of that pleasure. Followed by the words “Good job, Mr. Wigglestick” in its aftermath.

This was then followed by me taking my ear away from the wall and swallowing one of the pills Julie gave me.

Exactly how long I was asleep is hard to say. However, I do know from my experience as a pet store owner that when a caged animal that's been given a tranquilizer to quell its nerves arrives at The Wine Shop, it tends to drift in and out of consciousness until the calming agent is totally out of the system.

So all I could really recall were the intermittent patches of hazy sound bites. A plane door opening. A man saying, “Change of plans for this one, customer needs a replacement a.s.a.p. Put it on that truck over there.”

The next thing I remember is the sound of the crate being opened.