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The screen of a touch sensitive smartphone lit up as I pressed one and only present button on the bottom. Why in the name of heaven, there’d be a cellphone in a dream based on events of 1970’s. Maybe it was a hint by my subconscious, that it would not rest on its laurels until I’m victorious and gain full control over transplanted part of brain. Scrolling through the list of menus, and sub-menus, I could not find anything written in English. All commands had same folder icon and various Japanese scripts I was unable to read.
“What those writings say. Can you read?”
“Hiragana?…you bet I can” she bent forward trying read tiny scripts. “what are those…they don’t make any sense.”
“Why is that?”
“First one says… “Don’t try to screw me”, other one says “stop touching me” next “Prick!”. This says nothing important. Next says …”
“Wait a minute” her intentionally skipping translation of one particular command didn’t go unnoticed so I interrupted her instantly. “What the former one says? Everything is important. Please?”.
She hesitated for a second then uttered.
“Don’t trust this bitch”
Not the message of my subconscience but how she pronounced it with a threatening or angry tone made me almost crap my pants.
“Never mind. We can analyze it later. Next” - I said trying to restrain my emotions, as not to let her panic. Now I certainly knew she was the element of Hermans subconscious, unaware of her evil assignment yet. She was more like a time-bomb, that could go off anytime.
“This one says “Go to next menu”
“OK” – I did as instructed by my subconscious.
Next menu contained only two options “Emergency call” and “Online messaging” written in English.
So there was no internet coverage for sure. I opted for the first one. It didn’t indicate the name or the number of call recipient, just red ringing phone image and a tip saying “put it on your left ear”. I get it. She is not to listen this conversation.
In the meantime, “samurai” terrorists those angry henchmen argued with one of the cockpit crew members, brandishing their swords and saying something in their own language in an intimidating way, then dragging him from his ear who barely remained standing under those dire circumstances. He lurched back to cockpit, as far as I know, accompanied by a lame henchman, wearing blue and red stripped jersey.
After second dial tone I heard an unfamiliar voice.
“Hello”
“Who am I speaking to?” – I presumed it was a voice of a man in his late 60th.
“What an asshole. Like you don’t know. OK. You can just call me Mister. What you want from me?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. I found this cellphone with only your number in contacts list, I thought you can be somehow useful under given circumstances. I’m in the midst of Grand Asian Hijack with nutty left wing extremist brandishing their long samurai swords all across the plane. I’m sure it is in both our interests to resolve this issue peacefully, Mister. Do we understand each other?. ”
“Are you retarded boy. I’m not freaken air controller or an air marshal for you. Why should I care?”
“Never mind, then bye.” – I was going to hang the phone when heard him change his tone drastically.
“Tural…wait wait… Let’s talk”
“Now, out of sudden, you know my name, how come Mister?”
“All right, I was just breaking your balls. I am your subconscious indeed. First, make sure pretty-face is not prying.”
“Oh my God”
“What now?”
“She disappeared. Can you believe it. She was just sitting next to me.”
“You can deal with her later. I know how to get you out of there. You don’t have any chance to stop those bloodthirsty maniacs using force, they are well trained projections materialized by Hermans subconscious. Violence would only increase your likelihood of failure.
“So what options do we have?”
“You must make unthinkable, unpredictable move. Keep your friends close but enemies closer. You have to turn those left wing extremists into your allies. At least pretend to be ally. Make them believe you’re Soviet secret agent, coordinated by Communist authorities, that you are to assist them in successful accomplishment of this mission. They will try to verify your statements, your integrity, therefore you have to have solid information that only one from inside may have at given time. You can tell them whats gonna happen at Mirim airport, which statesman would meet them, which actions would be taken in regard to passengers and Japanese crew members, based on historic facts. You’d know better. Use your brain. Improvise kid!.
“Historic facts…Are you serious. Where the heck I’m gonna find this information. I have no internet access or Cambridge Library at my disposal, to dig about the incident that had happened almost half a century ago”
“But you have cell phone, right?
“So what?! Without internet access this cell-phone has no use other than “fly-killing”.
“Shush. Stop whining like a poor baby. I have a perfect solution for you, I’m sure you’ll like it. You’ll try to access Herman’s subconscious ‘controller’. Considering the fact that he rendered the incident of 1970’s in a ship-shape manner – let’s be clear here, he never was an eyewitness, this particular memory is muscle pumped by a lot of watching and learning – you can get all necessary information for manipulating those banzai goat-f…ers. I’m now redirecting this call. Good luck.
“Wait! What about….
I heard a girlish voice of a teenager, who answered suspiciously.
“Hello!”
“Who is it. Herman?
“Yes. Do I know you?
“Of course.” – I replied without giving a thought, yet confused.
“Victor is that you? Why you are calling this time. I can’t be bothered right now, I’m watching a documentary on Japanese flight hijack. Switch to First channel. You will not regret it.”
“You see, Herman. It, fell down, smashed into pieces as I got into a fist fight with my father yesterday. My box is gone. Puff! Just like that.
“You are one crazy mother f….r you know that!?”
“Nah...forget about it. What they tell? You have provoked my interest.
“I guess, they were bunch of crazy samurais who hijacked the commercial plane. They call it Yodogo Hijacking. Occurred on 31st of March, 1970 without any fatality. The alleged mastermind of the hijacking, who did not take part in the actual operation, was Takaya Shiomi. Can you believe, there was a Moriaki Wakabayashi – famous bass player of Tokyo’s underground legends Les Rallizes Denudes among hijackers. They were all aged between nineteen and twenty-one years old, boarded a Japan Airways Boeing 727 at Tokyo’s Haneda Airport – internal flight bound for Fukuoka. Soon after takeoff , the nine terrorists stormed the cockpit and sections of armed with pipe bombs and samurai swords.
The hijackers' motive was to find freedom in North Korea. Using North Korea as a base of operations, they could liberate South Korea from its oppression, then proceed to start workers' revolts across East Asia…”.
Last sentence sounded too formal, like he was reading it out from somewhere.
“…At first they demanded the pilot to divert the plane to Cuba. However plane had only enough fuel for touching down at Fukoka’s airport- its original destination.
“Are you sure, about it. They really wanted to fly to Cuba? Nothing said about North Korea”?
“Man, negotiations lasted for three days” – he continued ignoring my question. “Eventually compromise was reached. The authorities agreed that the airliner should be allowed to fly instead to Pyongyang, in Communist North Korea”
Something was not right. It seemed like he skipped some necessary information between the lines. Slight inconsistency.
“…then plane landed in the
disused Minimu Airport, where the North Korean authorities hailed the nine as heroes. They were all granted political asylum, and received military medals, all other privileges, plus luxury accommodation.
“At least tell me who was the leader of group?”
“ If I’m not mistaken, his name was Takamaro Tamiya”
In the meantime, cellphone beeped low battery again. “Shit”. I was getting bad connection. Please, not in a freaken dream.
“What about passengers? Where were they released? Hurry up, I have low battery.”
“You have what?....Wait a minute, Victor. You said you fought with your father yesterday. How come? Your father died in a car accident several years ago. Who is it really…?”
Connection was gone. Battery was dead. “Screw it.” I couldn’t retrieve sufficient data for manipulating whole situation. “What the hell, I don’t have much of a choice. Time is of the essence. I cannot afford to let all of my efforts go down the drain”.
I cleared my throat, stood up and announced.
“I need to speak to Takamaro San, please”. Response came quick. The face of the terrorist who was nearest to me, went all red, complexion changing into nasty, intimidating grimace. He came by and began shouting.
“Yakamashii! Ii kagen ni shiro!” – he said still hesitating to punch me in the face.
“Sir, I don’t understand anything you say. I need to speak to Takamaro San” – I replied, throwing him cynical smile.
“I say, shut your mouth, and stop messing around. Sit down now.”
He had a punk –style haircut , so it gave me idea that he could be….
“Oh, so you speak English after all, Wakabayashi San” – I decided to take my chances, pretending like I knew him.
“How did you know my name, you Italian prick?”
“Not again….What is the matter with you people, you are more Italian than me,…You are musician, aren’t you . From Denudes” (I couldn’t recall the first word of the title). You thought, by changing your haircut, nobody would notice you. Bad for you. Now go and get me Takamaro San . Your leader.”
He looked stunned, just like cattle brought in slaughter house. I turned back to see other cold-blooded terrorist standing right behind me, nothing to read on his face, threw me stare of indifferent judge. It was him. The leader of the henchmen who hijacked the plane, Takamaro Tamiya, in person.
“Hello. Do we know each other?” – not a muscle moved around his eyes. He also spoke in English
Musician guy made me out stretch my hands high, to check if I carried any weapon, while he was speaking to me.
“In absentia” -I replied with a slight grin upon my face - “I’m KGB agent, working undercover to assist your whole operation.”
“So what do you know?” – he spoke to me in a comfort and in a friendly tone. I could not understand what was the catch.
“ You are in charge of the hijack, but not the mastermind.”
“So who is it then, Nikita Khrushchev?”
“Why making such nasty jokes. They can make me “go”, even for hearing it. You know better than me. The mastermind of whole operation is Takaya Shiomi”
The moment he heard the name, there was total change in his face followed by seconds of silence. He now looked baffled.
“OK.” – he shook my hand completely different person “So what can we do for you, comrade?”
“My organization negotiated good terms for your stay in North Korea, arranged everything related to your accommodation, logistics, command center for your future operations, for liberating South Korea from American oppression and start workers revolts all across East Asia” – I used those formal words verbatim, which I heard from teenage Herman.
“But?”
“But. There’s one important issue. The thing is, I cannot be seen among the passenger of this plane after touching down in Pyongyang. You know conflict of interests. Korean authorities. My mission is deep undercover.
He smiled and answered.
“I’m not going to ask you details, out of respect for your cause, comrade. Nevertheless. What do you suggest? To change the course to Moscow? Will your authorities greenlight such a diplomatic controversy.
“Why Moscow. You can release me in Seoul, for example”
They all laughed mockingly after hearing my last words. “What an idiot ,me.” And I thought I was in the charge of situation. Actually, I turned into an object of ridicule.
“I have better suggestion for you, comrade. I’m letting you go now.
“Now? What you mean by that?”
“Literally, now” – he replied in a metallic tone, then wag his tongue, ordering his henchmen to bring something, in Japanese.
After several minutes of silence other leftist member , - I mean not musician guy - reached with a whit backpack in his hand.
“You cannot be serious?! I’m not into that sort of things. A parachute jump?
“It seems to me you don’t have any other choice. What can be more important than duty and cause, for KGB agent. Getting your cover blown is not in your best interest. Unfortunately, I cannot provide any training session ahead of jump”
He gave an order to strap me in a parachute harness, with a tip of katana pointed at my throat at a point blank range. I had severe doubts that I would not get killed even floating at that altitude. What if main chute doesn’t deploy, is it secured with a reserve. What would become of me, if I fall and die. Will the level start from square one? How is that even possible to exit the plane flying that high. All those negative ideas made me dizzy.
“Just make sure not to break your neck, comrade” – he said.
I was so mad at him that could tear his face with my nails and fangs off. Nevertheless, I was too tired to get killed and start everything over from a get-go. I never gave up hope.
“At least tighten it well, so I won’t lose it before landing as a meatball. Will you do it for me?”
Wobbling henchman opened the door and super-strong gust of wind blew into the plane, sucking small things out; plane began to rock. Passengers went into utter panic, crying, screaming, praying, some of them swearing at their fate, the whole universe. Things could turn even crazier if this happened in real rather than in a lucid dream. He told me to stand in the door.
“Remember to pull this D shaped rip cord. “No need for greenlight to jump. Just jump!”
He asked if I was ready but didn’t give me a chance to answer, savagely pushing me off the edge.
I couldn’t see a thing but ambient condensed clouds all around, first . But whole change of scenery took place within a minute, symmetrical green valley and thick forest spread like a stripes of a painting. I couldn’t yet tell how many thousands of kilometers I was above the ground. At some point, I hit air turbulence, swirling here and there, unable to control my floating. I pulled the handle, releasing the parachute. Thanks God it opened within 3 seconds. I tried to decrease the rate of descend by randomly adjusting the rigs. This was one hell of a landing.