Authors: Bill Diffenderffer
“That is a great point, Yamoto,” the Captain responded. “The will must be there. We all should surreptitiously work at reaffirming Japan’s samurai heritage. I cannot stress enough how important that is. For centuries Japan had been ruled by warriors. Clan fought clan for primacy and losers were exiled and killed. We were strong because life depended on it. But also because it was part of our culture – how we defined ourselves. We must return this Japan to that which is in fact their natural way of being.”
Yamoto signaled that he had a point to make. “Captain, I think you will be pleased to know of the very positive though only whispered excitement that the bombing of the Great Hall of the People in Tiananmen Square has produced among the next generation of military and industrial leaders in Tokyo. They know that it was a blow by Japan against some insult by China, but they do not know how they know that. Everywhere in quiet conversations they wonder who among them is responsible. They grapple with the ambiguity of the graffiti statement on the wall, ‘A typhoon’s wind blows in both directions’. It is now grown to mythic proportions. Some believe it to be true while others doubt it –but all discuss it. All wonder of its significance. Yet they smile when contemplating it.”
“Good. Thank you Yamoto, it is important to remember the power of icons. Now, Munenori, tell me about the monasteries. Are the Zen Masters promoting mentalization among their students and monks?”
Munenori was the oldest among the senior leaders and unlike the others he was more thoughtful and dispassionate. The Captain had given him the task of gaining the trust of the monks who practiced meditation. Then once trusted, he was to lead them to take responsibility for Japan’s use of mentalization to strengthen Japan.
Munenori maintained his quiet demeanor even as he was eager to update his captain. The history of warrior monks in earlier ages had made his task easier than expected. The monks were eager to use their long years of training in meditation to accomplish what they considered magical transformations. And they too were eager to embrace a return of Japan’s might and influence in Asia.
“Captain, on this we are ahead of schedule. And as with our other efforts, we are acting in the shadows of government. I have handpicked certain monasteries for special attention and their powers are already a force to be reckoned with. Their elders are particularly honored in this. Their years of training in meditation has prepared and strengthened their minds like no others. For a group who were so proud of their bare minimum living conditions, they are strangely exuberant in turning common metals into gold. They take delight in managing weather conditions. They move boulders about as if they were Hercules.”
“And are they willing to be active in restoring the honor and traditions of their homeland? Or have their years in the monasteries made them passive and weak?”
Munenori did not respond immediately; the Captain had voiced his greatest concern. “Sir, it would be a mistake to think that they will all act of one accord. Some will hold back – either from temerity or as a natural result of their disciplines. But many will rise to our banners. They will take pride in serving their country. It will be up to us to identify who should take the lead among them. I am certain of this – they will provide surprising mental power to our cause.”
“Well done! Yours is the most important of our work. Restoring Japan’s honor and destiny is impossible without controlling the territory of the mind. With such warriors, we will have no fear of losing in the war that will inevitably come. China will discover to its peril that what they see as a weak and timorous dog called Japan is really a lion waking up out of a bad dream.”
Chapter Fifteen
“To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them?...”
William Shakespeare,
Hamlet
Act III
Sitting at the outdoor table of the Beirut café while waiting for Hasan to appear, Khalil thought about America. He knew it well, he believed. He had never been there but he had seen movies and TV shows and his English was good enough to understand what was happening on screen. His favorites were the action movies that featured heroes like Ironman and Batman and even though he cheered for them to beat their evil foes he liked seeing all the destruction of the cities in the climactic scenes. And he liked seeing all the beautiful women in their sexy clothes. Truly America was the devil’s playground.
He liked thinking of himself as a powerful warrior of Allah. Pure and devout when no action was required, but indomitable when heeding the call to do Allah’s will. Had he not single-handedly knocked down the fortress that had been the American Embassy in Tel Aviv? And now was he not preparing an even greater blow against the most powerful infidel? He was the real Ironman.
In truth, he realized, he didn’t understand why the great Allah would allow for Americans to be so rich while His people were so poor. The Saudi princes were fabulously rich but they were just a few and they were not true to their faith. They left their homeland on their private jets with their bejeweled whores to play and gamble in places like Monte Carlo and Las Vegas. They thought that warriors like him did not know of this but he was not such a fool! Their punishment would come too! Why would Allah allow the Saudi princes to so flaunt their wealth? It was very confusing to him. And now he was hearing that these strange Other Earths were giving even ordinary people strange powers to manipulate things with their minds. Some said that even oil would become so plentiful that everything would change in the Middle East. Khalil wondered if that meant the Americans would go away and leave the people of the desert to return to their deserts the way it was before oil became important. Khalil wasn’t so sure that would be such a good thing – even though he and his friends all prayed for America to leave their lands.
He hated America, he reminded himself. It was godless and evil and it was the Americans’ fault that his brother and father were killed in the streets and that he had no wife or sons. As he sat there, Khalil wondered what it would be like to go home to a family, his family, every night. How would it be if his father and brother had never died – if they could all be together? What would it be like to have a wife who made his meals and shared his bed? A wife who would always respect him and follow his lead – do as he instructed? He blamed America. It was America’s fault that he had no family.
Hasan quietly took the seat opposite Khalil at the small table. “So, my friend, how are things?” Khalil looked up surprised. Hasan always moved as if he was more shadow than person.
“I am well but I am impatient. I hunger to strike another blow against the Americans.” Khalil regarded Hasan. He had planned to say those words to show his intention and resolve. He hoped it would encourage Hasan to move forward both quickly and boldly.
“I am glad to hear that, for we too are eager to move forward. However, we are concerned about your ability to be effective in what you plan. We cannot afford for there to be mistakes or for things to go wrong because of things you do not anticipate.”
Khalil could not believe what he was hearing, how could they doubt him? “Did I not perform precisely as planned against the embassy? Why would you doubt me?”
Hasan held up his open palms to Khalil. “Do not feel so concerned. We are only trying to ensure that things do not go wrong because of your lack of familiarity with the people and customs in the United States. You have never been there, correct?”
“Does that matter? You said before that you can put me into the city there without detection. Once there, a city is a city. My English is not so bad. I can take a taxi as well there as here. In Washington D.C. they are used to foreigners. I will not stand out.”
“Perhaps that is so,” responded Hasan. “But great endeavors such as this should never trust that events will transpire as planned. One must always provide for surprises.”
Khalil saw now that his mission was not going to be cancelled. Relief flooded through him, yet he knew Hasan had something else in mind. “So how should I prepare for such surprises? What would you have me do? I will do whatever it takes.”
“Khalil that is why I like you! You see already that we are on the same side. Yes, you are right, we do want to alter the plan – but in a way I think you will like. You see my boss, the Captain of our ship, thinks that the action you will take is very important to our cause. It is so important that he insists on being personally involved. In fact he wants to accompany you when you go into Washington. He is very familiar with that city and if he is with you, the success of your mission will be assured.”
Khalil was now concerned again. He wanted no confusion this time over his central role in striking this titanic blow against America. This would be to his glory not someone else’s. “So then it would be your Captain who would lead this? What need would there be for me? But this is my dream not his.”
Hasan knew Khalil well enough to know what Khalil’s worry was. “We do not doubt you on this. This will be your accomplishment. The Captain will not want any credit. He just wants to be sure it goes as planned. It will be you holding the weapon – you pulling the trigger.”
Khalil was still concerned; he wanted no repeat of the embassy bombing where his peers doubted his central role. “So can I meet your Captain? I would like to hear from him that this will still be my mission. When can I meet him?”
Hasan smiled back at Khalil, “Why you can meet him right now. Here he is.”
A very tall fair skinned man wearing a baseball cap and a large pair of sunglasses took one of the two remaining seats at the small table. “Hello Khalil,” he said. “Just call me Captain, if you like.”
Khalil looked at the man closely. His face seemed to look familiar, but with the hat and sunglasses, he couldn’t quite place him. But one thing was clear and it was a surprise. “You are not an Arab! Hasan, I thought you came from a world where Muslims ruled. Yet your Captain –“
Hasan interrupted, “My Captain is obviously not an Arab – he is a Muslim.”
Khalil looked again at the man who had just sat down with him. “Yes, Khalil,” the man said and as he did so, he took off his sunglasses so as to better look at Khalil eye to eye. “I am a devout Muslim.”
Then Khalil knew the man he was looking at, “You are the one they call Plato – are you not?”
The man quickly put the sunglasses back on, “Please, do not call me that here!”
“But I have read about you,” Khalil said. “I never read you were Muslim.”
“There are many things you have not read about me – but surely you know that to succeed one cannot tell all of one’s secrets. Isn’t it enough that we are all believers in Allah and are dedicated to his cause? Will you distrust me because of my skin color? On my Earth Islam has taken over all of Europe. Islam is not just for the Arab in the desert. Are there not Muslims here who are not Arabs?”
“Yes, of course. But still it takes getting used to seeing you here,” replied
Khalil.
“Do not be concerned,” said the crewmember from The Freya who had had his appearance altered to closely resemble Plato. “I will help you in your great service to Allah! We together will strike such a blow against Satan’s lackeys. The Americans will fall from their high mountain of pride and arrogance. You Khalil will be a hero to your people. Your praises will be sung.”
Khalil could not quite believe his good fortune. This was better than he had hoped! “And will we do this soon?” he asked.
The false Plato nodded, “Yes, very soon. Very soon you will fire the missile that will destroy the mighty dome of The Capitol which rises so haughtily above the skyline of Washington. Your missile will send to Hell the leaders of America’s government! And by killing their leaders we will cripple their country. They will pull their soldiers back home and hide under their beds like children afraid of the night. Have no doubts, Khalil! It will happen! You will see the crumbling of the dome and the engulfing flames with your own eyes.”
Hand in hand Gabriela and David walked down the beach of Pirate’s Cay as the sun kissed against the horizon. They had found that walking together along the beach following a long meditation session was a perfect way to re-open their minds to the breadth of existence while stretching their legs as well. They had spent time meditating every day for the past two months, whether they were on the island or back home at their apartment in New York. Part of each session was focused on mentalization and they both were beginning to show progress. Planck had promised to build them each their own amplifier as soon as they were ready.
They had been walking in silence for a while, each enjoying the gentle breeze and the squish of the wet sand beneath their bare feet. David also enjoyed just looking at Gabriela with her olive-tinged Bahama tanned skin contrasting her short white shorts and pink halter top barely covering her slim and lanky form. She might not be the most brilliant physicist – though she could hold her own -- but she was definitely the best looking one he had ever seen. Though he should probably tell her that more often, he realized. But he didn’t seem to have the time. And as he walked he realized how lame that was. And then he started thinking about the times they were in. And the now-ness of walking hand in hand on a beautiful beach with the beautiful woman he was going to marry started sliding away from him.
David’s mind had lost its meditation induced calm and now anxiously gnawed at his consciousness with the fears associated with the scary present. “You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “the part I struggle with is the idea the future could be so great with the benefits of Participatory Physics but to get there we have to entrust an immature and hate-ridden world with powers of frightful magnitude. How do we survive the short term to get to the long term?”
Gabriela squeezed his hand, “I know coming from me, this will surprise you, but I think you just have to believe we will. I guess that is what we have to put out to the universe. You have to have faith.”
“Faith?”
“Yes faith. Believe David! You have to believe.”
“That’s strange talk coming from a physicist,” David responded.
Gabriela stopped their walking to turn toward him. She looked at him with a gentle smile flickering on her face. “I’m a physicist who has now learned that the universe is founded on consciousness. Physicists have actually known that that elephant has been hiding in the kitchen for quite a while, but we didn’t like the implications and couldn’t do any math that supported it. So we ignored it. I did too. But now I know it is true and I wouldn’t be much of a physicist if I wasn’t willing to go where our data and experience takes us. So consciousness matters. The mind matters. So belief matters.”
David thought it through as he stared out over the turquoise waters. “So if I fear the catastrophe, I am helping to bring it on. I have to believe we will survive this?”
“Yes, but it wouldn’t hurt for us to do everything we can to beat back the terrorism and whatever it is that The Freya is up to.”
“Good point. But don’t forget about The Lucky Dragon. Trust me, those guys are really scary! They make Captain Ragnar look no worse than a street punk in a bad neighborhood.”
When David and Gabriela finished their walk, they returned to the main building and saw Plato sitting at an umbrella covered table near the pool with Catherine Ozawa. Plato waved David and Gabriela over to join them and they took the two remaining seats – Gabriela took the one not shaded and David was happy with the one remaining seat still under cover of the umbrella.
“There are things that must be done soon,” Plato said immediately. “Events are moving faster than I thought they would.”
“What is it that we have to deal with?” David asked.
“Another terrorist attack facilitated by Captain Ragnar – which I think will be a major strike within the United States.” Plato responded.
“How do we know this?” asked Gabriela.
Plato looked at them with a gleam in his eye that made him look more fierce than his usual wise and calm demeanor. “There is good and bad to this. The bad is that I believe The Freya is again working with the terrorist who blew up the American Embassy in Tel Aviv with a weapon put in his hands by The Freya. And judging The Freya from past experience, I think they are seeking a more dramatic and destabilizing strike than the one against the Embassy.”