The Click

The party boarded a large wooden barge having thickly varnished oak paneled

sides. It was built high off the water requiring everyone to navigate a half dozen ladder steps before reaching the deck surrounded entirely by a three foot high wall. Here again Christopher had to be lifted up with the help of Hitch and several DanShebans. Once aboard, they were all directed to tables and chairs under a roof covered lounge with openings all around.

Within no time at all they left Mumbai heading east through the various inlets, creeks they were called, and before long the barge glided across the water under a moon lit sky into the underbelly of India, into the shadows of its jungle thicket, into a new chapter in the fight of Oliver Hitchcock’s life. For several hours they meandered to the left and the right and the left again taking different forks in the river, as it snaked its way deeper into the heart of darkness.

Hitch stood at the bow, alone, gazing at the moon’s reflection on the water and the constantly narrowing and widening shorelines on opposite sides. Beyond the frontage walls of moonlit green he could only see snippets of the jungle’s ever present eyes peeking out of utter blackness.

“Our magic carpet to DanSheba,” Meta declared as she stepped up to the railing besides him.

Hitch wondered about that. “What I don’t get is how you’ve managed to keep DanSheba a secret. VAMA technology has to …”

“Geography, my friend. You’ll see, and thousands of years of practice. Secrecy is part of the DanSheban’s DNA.”

“At your house we talked about educated DanShebans throughout the world constantly in touch with your not so little village of high technology.”

“Too crazy for you to believe?”

“So crazy I couldn’t tell Barnaby.”

Meta shrugged, as if she understood. “So Julian is a Tarsusian?”

“Is? … Was, that’s for sure.”

“But he is our spy? Yes?”

Hitch hesitated. He knew the answer to that question but was having trouble making sense of it, and more trouble spitting it off his tongue. “Yeah, but why deliver Elana?”

Meta stared back without an answer, then turned away from Hitch and headed for the stern. “You’re the expert.”

Much later, as the group sat in the covered lounge watching the partially clouded sky, now moonless but sparkling with other heavenly bodies, one of the DanShebans began dropping down thick transparent plastic sheets that covered the roof. “In a few minutes you will see why we have done this,” he explained with a smile that said he could not wait for his guests to see what was about to happen. ”Please hold tight to your seats. We will be making a very sharp turn to the right momentarily.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, as they experienced serious turbulence, the barge started into a sharp right turn and to everyone’s surprise they were heading directly into a gigantic waterfall at least six stories high. By then Christopher was sitting up on his gurney and HOOTING loud enough to be heard over the thunder of crashing whitewater as they continued straight ahead through one edge of its majestic curtain. The mist was so thick, the sound so deafening, they could hardly see one another or hear their own thoughts of amazement. Once they passed through the backside of the waterfall, the churning river turned to glass, the roar to silence, and the mist to seemingly crisp dry air, as they moved smoothly into a cavern void of light other than what came from the barge. For the next hour or so, they talked quietly across an immense seemingly shoreless lake before exiting into a narrow river imprisoned on both sides by walls of jungle thicket a hundred shades of green made visible by the rising sun.

Rousseau couldn’t get to Mumbai fast enough. At Rosewall’s insistence, she brought the Blue Cube, ever fearful that it would be discovered by authorities more powerful than the general. She reached her hotel near the East Bombay Wharf in Mumbai, hid the Blue Cube as best she could, and then took a taxi to the wharf. The entire area had turned into an even larger circus, actually more like a citywide festival of competing interests. Hordes of people assaulted the streets, restaurants, and shops; onlookers, the media running around with cameras and microphones, and angry demonstrators from both sides,. Many of the signs read: Down with the Cūtocracy; others, Atheist America—Burn in Hell; and still others Only a Clock should Tick.

She had never seen so many VAMA agents blanketing the area. They were patrolling the streets, poking in and out of the shops, and monopolizing the water. A dozen battle ready riverboats serving as battleships and carriers for helicopters overwhelmed the wharf with their flags waving in the breeze; VAMA India, VAMA Neuropa, VAMA China … and others. Why were they there? Where were they going? She knew the answers but still could not wrap her arms around DanSheba. Certainly they weren’t all needed to flatten a school yard filled with dissidents.

As she wrestled with all that, her scud RANG. It was Rosewall.

“Are you there?”

“See for yourself.” She clicked her scud into view mode and scanned the area with

it.

“Good. Just stay alert. I have a meeting with McGivney in a little while and will learn more. He’s been somewhat secretive. Not sure what’s up but just be ready. And one other thing. I want you to get into that Jewish School of Learning before we blow it to hell. One of my sources at the Vatican told me they didn’t believe Hitchcock and his people were still there.

“Impossible! Half of VAMA has to be here and they must have the entire school surrounded. It would have taken a resurrection for Hitchcock to get out.”

“Well I doubt that God’s on their side so let’s assume they’re still there.”

“And this Spanish Armada that I’m looking at, do they know where in the hell they’re going?” Rousseau asked.

“I can only guess. McGivney is pulling the strings at the UN. Hopefully I’ll know more soon.”

Hitch had two DanShebans guarding Julian Iscar in a cabin below deck the entire time they were afloat and he hadn’t talked to him since they entered the gate at the School of Learning. At the moment he was sitting with Meta in a cabin across the hall but could see Julian whose back was turned.

“Oliver?” Meta said as she nodded toward Julian, but Hitch ignored her. “These Ethiopian Diamond Mines that DanSheba owns, they fund everything?” “More than enough and have forever. … What about Julian?”

“And there are DanShebans secretly living everywhere in the world shipping in new technology.”

“Yes, and books. … But don’t change the subject.

“Yeah. It’s time I talk with my good friend.” He put it off long enough, he knew, but had difficulty all day reconciling Julian’s role in the entire affair. More perplexing was the fact that all the years they stood back to back in the most life threatening situations, Julian never showed the least bit interest in God or any other spiritual enlightenment. Apparently that was the way of Tarsusians.

He stepped across the hall and motioned to Julian to join him. Julian and his two guards rose from the table. He motioned to the guards to stay put, then nodded to Julian, who was still wearing the loose fitting clothes of his Indian disguise and fake arm. At the stern they confronted one another above the barge’s wake. Seconds later Meta joined them.

“This is how you treat your friends? Jesus, I’d hate to be your enemy,” Hitch said without flinching.

“What?” Julian actually seemed surprised by Hitch’s comment.

“Your buddy who saved you from bleeding to death in the desert. That would be

me.”

“Oliver …”

“I trusted you. A Tarsusian, no less.”

“You want to bring down the Church.”

“Bring down the Church? No, I want to save my grandson.

“It’s always about you, Oliver. It’s always been about you. You are the most narcissistic son of a bitch I …

It’s the president of the United States who wants to bring down your fucking church, and for good reason, you bastard.”

Julian reached up into the sleeve of his fake arm and stepped back from Hitch. The arm fell to the deck. His good hand came out gripping a small laser pistol. He pointed it at Hitch. “I won’t allow it my sacrilegious friend. Neither you nor your president will destroy us on such fallacious grounds. The Click is the work of God.”

Hitch could not believe what he was hearing from someone with such high intellect. “Julian. The bastards have been lying their asses off. The Cūtocracy is a fraud. It’s over.”

Meta stepped between them. “We have proof.”

“Proof! Ha! We took it from your safe. The document is a forgery … the so-called Smotecal Decretum. You can dip a pig in gold and it is still a smelly pig. Our experts …”

Meta laughed. “Fool! Do you think I would be stupid enough to keep the original at home? We DanShebans are masters at forgery. Your president has the original and she is ready to tell the world.”

Julian still gripping his laser gun stared at her. “Tell the world what?”

“The truth. That the Click is man-made. That a deal was struck years ago between your Supreme Minister Innocent II and the Cūtocracy.”

“Your high and mighty church knew what was going on all along,” Hitch added. “It watched the Cutocracy delay the vaccine until the Click was ready causing millions of human beings to die in the meantime.”

Julian began shaking. Hitch had never seen him look so conflicted. “No!” His head darted back and forth, first to Hitch, then Meta, and back again. He searched their eyes for a sign of the truth, then stepped back against the railing. He looked up for an answer.

As if God Almighty gave him his orders, he swung his pistol around and aimed it at the man who saved his life and fired. ZING. Meta jumped in front of Hitch and took it in the arm. Hitch lunged towards Julian and took him down. They wrestled for the pistol. ZING. Julian went limp in Hitch’s arms.

Hitch was now conflicted. They were friends, comrades in the trenches. He had save Julian’s life and he knew well one doesn’t take the life of a person he once saved. He gently set Julian down. “I’m sorry my friend, but on Edna’s grave, they lied to you … and the rest of the world … on my wife’s grave I swear it.”

“Edna’s grave?” Julian was grasping for air. He reached up and pulled Hitch down. “You need to know about Elana. She … Sh …” A last gasp and Julian died as Meta stood over them holding her arm.

Hours later, in the middle of the night, after making sure Meta’s arm was cleaned and bandaged, Hitch stood alone at the bow of the barge peering out, into the lightless future, while the others were asleep. He would make sure his friend was properly buried. As he wondered exactly what that entailed, he heard someone whispering out his name. He pivoted and smiled. Elana approached.

“If it weren’t for Julian,” she said taking his hand in hers.

“I know, but it wasn’t exactly a benevolent act, at least not towards you.”

He turned away from her. His gaze focused down, into the wake of the hull as it glided through the dark water. She moved close to his side. Their bodies brushed up against one another.

“Then why?” she asked.

“He really believed he was doing the work of God. Just the thought that his Church or even the Cūtocracy would betray God, he couldn’t handle that.”

“But he betrayed you. He was CIA and your friend.”

“Friend? Maybe, maybe not. CIA. Tarsusian. Cūtocrat. Librarian for sure. What the hell else was he?” Hitch gripped the railing so tight he couldn’t help but notice the pain across his knuckles. One of her hands covered his, warm, soft. He could feel the other touch his thigh. He turned to her. She kissed him. He kissed back with such passion he felt dizzy. Their bodies came together; his groin pressed against hers. With their tongues clinched, his hand slipped under her blouse, up and down her braless back, into her bare buttocks. Her breathing became heavy.

“Shanghai women don’t wear anything under …” “In the rush when I changed, it seems I forgot.”

Hitch moved her to the raised side of the hull and lifted her skirt up. She unzipped him, then wrapped her legs around his thighs. As the barge skimmed across still water, Elana’s muffled moans were swallowed up by the Jungle’s rhythmic heartbeats.

In the morning, everyone gathered on deck and were welcomed with coffee and rolls. They gazed ahead as the barge navigated the narrow river and multiple forks until a wharf with throngs of black people in colorful outfits, reds and oranges, blues and greens, and yellows, burst into view. Some were waving bright purple handkerchiefs, others were clapping. Meta nudged Hitch and pointed to a hill abutting a glassy multicolored mountain wall that reflected the sunrise. Hitch could hardly see beyond the wharf. It was as if the village itself had disappeared.

“Like you said, geography.”

“And blackout shades at sunset come down automatically.”

All of a sudden, something occurred to him. “Meta, Nagasi had a V-Mark.” “You mean like this?” She pulled up the sleeve of her good arm. The other was

wrapped within a sling. “A tattoo so good even VAMA can’t tell the difference.” Hitch was about to respond, clearly impressed, but just then spied his daughter

trembling as she watched Dr. Ringthaller bending over Christopher with his stethoscope. Meta reached over and gripped Hitch’s shoulder. “We dock in minutes. He’ll be

taken directly to the hospital, a hospital like you’ve never seen. I promise.”

Hitch took a deep breath, held it for a moment and let it out. He turned back to Meta and was about to respond when he heard Kathy call out to him. She was in tears.

“He’s asking for you, Dad.”

He rushed over only to see how pale his grandson was. Christopher opened his eyes. “Grandpa?”

“I’m right here.”

“Grandpa … I … I don’t want to die like OJ?”

“We’re here in DanSheba so don’t you worry. Just be tough. That’s important.” “Why?”

“Because you’re a Hitchcock. You’re …”

“No, I mean why me?”

Before Hitch could respond, the barge bumped against the wharf and a number of DanShebans rushed aboard to help dock it. At the same time they carried away Christopher on his gurney down to the wharf. Kathy froze as she watched him go, then stepped closer to her father and whispered in his ear. “He’s going to die in this jungle. I know it.”

Before Hitch could even react, she was gone, following after her son. He stared after them for several moments, then at all the villagers crowded around the wharf, the highly polished mountain up the hill, the river that disappeared upstream and downstream, and the impenetrable jungle across the river. Jesus, he thought. She’s right.

Rousseau went from the East Bombay Wharf to the Jewish School of Learning. She naively thought she could waltz right onto the grounds and cut Hitchcock’s throat. The gate was chained shut and VAMA had it surrounded. When she attempted to climb the wall with the help of an old man’s stool, one of the guards stopped her. Orders from above. No one comes or goes, she was told. Upon returning to the East Bombay Wharf, pissed at being treated like a private, she received a call from Rosewall whoe instructed her to return to her hotel. McGivney was insisting on a conference call amongst the three

of them. Getting to the hotel was as difficult as getting to the wharf in the first place, in fact more so. More cars, more people, more protesters. Something big was happening.

Shortly after reaching her room, Rousseau had both McGivney and Rosewall on her scud in split screen mode. Rosewall instructed her to set up the Blue Cube. She hesitated until the Minister assured her he knew all about it. In fact he had a similar one operating in his office at that very moment.

Before long, she was standing beyond her own huge HS-Screen. After some instruction from McGivney, she could see a protolyte view of India with a cross-hair pulsating over the jungle.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, astonished, baffled in fact. She could hear McGivney hoot with gloating happiness.

“I told you both to have faith.”

“I’ve had enough faith to last a lifetime,” the general responded. “Now that I know it’s real I plan to blow that shitty village to bits.”

“Just a bit longer, Rosewall. It would be better if we had the entire UN fleet on our side. In the meantime, I want you there to lead the charge.”

By the time Hitch climbed down from the barge, Christopher and Kathy had disappeared. He hurried up the hill to the village square and past the tall flagless pole toward what clearly had to be the hospital, a one story red brick building that seemed simple enough. He wasn’t sure what Meta had been bragging about, until he arrived. Equipment everywhere, labs, offices, patient rooms seemingly placed everywhere at random. Research scientists and doctors, all DanShebans, filled those rooms. Several were huddling with Elana and Barnaby when Hitch finally found them at the end of a narrow hall.

Meta stood by herself talking on her scud.

Hitch looked around for Kathy wondering where Christopher had been taken. He started toward the huddled group when he heard Meta call out.

“Oliver, wait.”

Hitch stopped and approached her as she clicked off.

“That was Yennie. The president says VAMA has our location. They’re coming, the entire UN fleet, unless she can stop them.”

“What? We searched Julian. He had no tracker.” Meta glanced over at Elana.

“Oh, Christ. The bastard planted a … Jesus, am I dumb shit.” Hitch wheeled around in Elana’s direction.

Meta grabbed his arm. “Leave it. She doesn’t have to know. We always knew the risk was there. Now we must work that much faster.”

“What else did your man Yennie say?”

“They hear the UN will invade DanSheba to vaccinate the population. But the president fears the Cūtocracy won’t settle for that … and.”

“And …”

“And we have to prove scientifically the Click is a fraud before the president will expose the Smotecal Decretum and be able to convince the UN to turn back, and only independently validated proof will stop them.”