Chapter 7
Two months later…
Ali watched as his brother walked home.
Well, Ryobi wasn’t really his brother in the truest sense of the word, though both boys had known each other for practically all their lives. Orphaned at the age of four, Ali had wondered around until Ryobi, then six years old himself and orphaned, had taken the younger boy under his wing.
And home, if you could really call it that, was a tattered tarp spread out in a corner of the several miles square city dump. Occasionally, Ali and Ryobi would move their residence closer to whatever area the trash was being discarded. This was important to their survival, Ali knew. They weren’t the only scavengers who called the city home. If they didn’t follow the trash, they would have nothing to eat or sell.
Ali had heard once that he lived in a place called Somalia, but he really didn’t know what that meant, or even what it may imply. He knew there was a larger world out there. Occasionally he would spot someone with white skin, or blond hair, or slanted eyes, and even once, blue eyes. These people were like exotic aliens, and he had no real concept of where they came from or what they were doing in the streets he occasionally haunted.
The sprawling trash heaps consisted mostly of rusted metal parts and rotting food stuff. Paper was also in abundance, and when collected made a decent blanket during the occasional chilly nights. Most of the things that came to the dump were worthless, since locals had the tendency to use something until it couldn’t be used anymore. However, occasionally, if they were able to fight off the other boys—girls didn’t survive this life and had other ways to make a living than as a boy, Ali didn’t understand yet—they would find something of actual value that could be sold. Mostly, they just looked for discarded foodstuff that could potentially be their next meal.
Competition was so fierce, that the moment you found anything edible, you ate it immediately, else a fight would break out. Though fights broke out anyway. Ali and Ryobi worked as a team, Ryobi often fighting off other boys that ventured too near, thus allowing the smaller and more agile Ali to scrounge. Ali always shared what he found.
Ryobi’s dirty face looked pinched in annoyance as he stomped up to Ali. “It’s worthless.” He tossed the gadget onto the pile of rubbish before Ali.
Ali grinned, knowing how irritated his older friend got when he couldn’t sell one of their finds from the dump. “How can it be worthless? It looks expensive.” He picked it up and examined it. He was already intimately familiar with it since he had found it two days ago. The black, rectangular object was heavy, the outside shell made of some incredibly hard and dense material. A few English letters and numbers were written on one side, although the last two and been scratched off somehow. He had tried to pry the outside casing off, but without success. He had no idea what it was.
“We’ll, it’s still worthless,” Ryobi insisted again. His black face reflected a typical Somalia heritage, and his 13 year old face bore the impatience typical of a young teenager. “No one knows what it is, so no one will buy it.”
Ali, two years younger than Ryobi, but perhaps more streetwise, looked up. “Did you try Korfa?”
Ryobi snorted. “Of course, I tried him. He just cursed at me and threw it at my head.”
Ali nodded. That sounded like Korfa. “Well it looks important,” he said, trying to justify future attempts at pawning it off on someone. “Maybe Osman would be interested.”
Ryobi snorted at that. “He promised to cut off your hand the next time he saw you, remember?”
“Aww…he wouldn’t really do it.”
The older scavenger rolled his eyes. “Look around you, Ali! This is Somalia. Not America. He would cut your hand off in a second.”
America. A land of legend and about as reachable as the moon to Ali. Still, Ryobi was right. Ali turned the object over in his thin, dirty hands, thinking. “What do you think it went into?”
They both knew it was some type of electronic component. But since the most advanced electronic equipment either had ever seen operational was an old tube style TV, they couldn’t for the life of them figure out what it might be.
“There is a guy,” Ryobi said, slowly. “He’s Chinese. I showed it to him. I think he might be interested.”
“He say so?”
“No. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t. But I could tell. He asked me where I had found it.”
Ali looked around at the huge waste dump that lay on the fringes of the city. This was his home, his and Ryobi. They shared it with about a score of other scavengers who fought ferociously over any scrap that might have some value to it. Everything was dumped here, from normal household waste to industrial garbage—mostly twisted and rusted scrap. Ali remembered one person complaining about the overwhelming stench about the place, but Ali could recall no other home. He didn’t smell anything. He had once overheard a white skinned man mutter something nasty about ‘dumpster-divers’ when Ali had tried to sell him something on the streets. Ali had no idea what the man had referred to, except that the man hadn’t been very pleased with Ali’s appearance.
“You mean, he wanted to know if you stole it?”
“Yeah, I think.”
“What did you tell him?”
Ryobi shrugged. “We got it out of the landfill. That’s true enough, right?”
Ali thought about it. “You think you can find him again? Maybe he would buy it if we offer him a deal.”
“Maybe.” Ryobi didn’t seem very interested. “I just don’t think it matters. It is broken.”
“How do you know that? We can’t even open it. Besides, maybe someone wants it because of the metal. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Maybe,” the older scavenger muttered again, unconvinced.
Ali jumped to his feet, eagerness playing across his features. “Come. We shall find this man and make a deal with him.”
Ali seemed to retract a little “We will ask for good money, otherwise, we just keep it”. His older friend stood much slower, his expression dubious. “I met him in the government district. That’s all the way on the other side of town.” He peered at the sun. “It’ll be dark by the time we get there.”
Ali’s smile faded. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” His stomach growled. He wanted something to eat, and didn’t relish scrounging for it. He had secretly hoped that selling the black box would allow them to eat freely for several days. He considered his options. “Okay. We’ll go tomorrow and see if we can’t find this Chinese man. We’ll try to be back before the trucks dump the new stuff.” The ‘new stuff’ was the daily trash brought from the city and seafront wharves.
Ryobi rubbed his stomach. “Okay. Where do you think we should go to get something to eat?”
Ali hid the metal box with the rest of their stash and started walking. “We’ll find something,” he assured his friend. “We always do.”
But they never even made it out of the landfill. Three men appeared out of the gloom, surrounding them as they neared the landfill exit. All three looked Asian, possibly Chinese. Ali hadn’t seen many from that part of the world, so he couldn’t be sure. One, shorter than the other two, pointed to Ryobi and said something rapidly in a language that Ali didn’t understand.
One of the other men, a bit taller with jet black hair slicked straight back and wearing a double breasted suit stepped forward. His hands were clasped behind his back, but though his manner was unthreatening, Ali felt suddenly nervous all the same. Ryobi did too, for Ali could hear his friend swallow. The man looked the two boys over and then speared Ryobi with a small smile. “Boy, I hear you had some object or other that you were trying to sell. I would like to see this metal box of yours.”
Ryobi swallowed again and looked at Ali for help. Ali nodded. The situation didn’t look good. These men weren’t here to buy the box. They were here to take it. Ali determined to make it difficult for them. He wanted to at least get a meal out of it. His friend looked back to the men. “I do
n’t have it. Ali, here does. He knows where it is.”
The Chinese man turned to Ali. “You have it?”
“Yes. It is safe. I know where it is.”
The man turned an unsympathetic gaze back on Ryobi. “Then I guess I don’t need you.” Before Ali could do anything, the man pulled one of his hands out from behind his back. Ali heard a weak, sharp pitched sound emanate from the some object in the man’s black gloved hand.
Ali turned to Ryobi, confused, but froze when he saw the look of horror and pain that seemed to be etched in his friend’s face. “Ryobi? What—Ryobi!” His friend collapsed in a heap. In the late evening light, Ali spotted dark fluid spreading over the rubbish from underneath his friend. He leapt towards his injured friend, thinking to help, but strong hands grabbed him and yanked him upright. He found himself facing the barrel of a silencer.
“Your friend is dead,” said the calm Asian voice. “Give us the object and we’ll let you live.” The man pushed his face a bit closer. “There is no sense in you dying as well. Take us to it now.”
Ali could hardly move except for an uncontrollable shaking that suddenly overtook his limbs. His jaw clenched so tightly that he felt he couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. The man who held him, shook him until his teeth rattled. With incredible effort, Ali managed to point in the general direction of his stash. “It’s over there,” he stammered out.
“Very good. Take us to it.”
They dropped Ali, who fell face first next to his dead friend. For a long moment he stared into Ryobi’s open and sightless eyes. Someone kicked him painfully in the ribs and he grunted as he felt a rib crack.
“Now boy! Hurry!”
Climbing to his feet, Ali staggered off towards where he and Ryobi had made their home. He just wanted the men to go away. Tears blurred his vision, and he almost walked by the simple shelter of rusty aluminum sheets that served as his home. He turned into it and fell to his knees. Shortly, he had the black object out. “Here,” he whispered.
The Chinese man snatched it away and examined it minutely in the failing light. After several moments, he sighed in satisfaction. “Beijing will be most pleased,” he said. He turned to his two companions and rattled off something in Chinese. One of the men nodded, taking the object from his superior and running off. The black gloved leader turned back to Ali. “Tell me boy. Did you find anything else similar?”
“N-no.”
The man seemed to think on that for a bit. Turning more fully to the boy, he said, “My name is Chen. What is yours?”
Ali didn’t know what it mattered, but he managed to mutter his name.
“Ali? A strong name. Maybe in your next life you will come to something better than this.” He swept his hand around at the landfill. “Buddha teaches that suffering is the way of all things. Your suffering is but a means to an end. In this, I shall help you.”
He brought his gun up. Terrified, Ali just stared at the black hole in the silencer attached to the end of the barrel. He never knew when Chen pulled the trigger. He never knew anything more.
Chen turned from the body of the second boy he had just murdered. He didn’t care for killing children, but both boys had seen his face and they couldn’t be allowed to live. The piece of American technology that they had discovered was, unfortunately for them, much more valuable than either of their lives.
He turned to his one remaining subordinate. “Get me in touch with Wong immediately.” The man bowed and turned to run off. “Wait.” Chen held up a hand and the man froze. He pointed to the bodies of the two boys. “Afterwards, come back and burn the bodies when you are done.” The man nodded and ran off. Chen followed more slowly, thinking about what they had found and what it could mean to his nation’s war technology. He should get a promotion for this. He smiled.
Out on the converted fishing ship, Wong moved with irritation to the bridge. The communications officer had sent word that Chen was trying to get in touch with him again. Cursing Chen’s parentage, he muttered aloud, “If this is another one of his whimpering demands to return to the ship, I’ll shoot him myself!”
Entering the bridge, he shooed the communication’s officer out of room and snatched up the satellite phone. “Lee here. Chen, this had better—”
Chen cut him off curtly. “I need an immediate exfiltration.”
“Chen, we are in the middle of a scavenging operation out here! I can’t just close everything down because you are in a hurry.”
“This can’t wait, Wong. Beijing is going to want what I found immediately.”
“What did you find?”
“American technology. I’ve been able to trace the part to an essential component to the TACAIR fighter.”
Lee suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “Did you say the TACAIR?”
“Yes!”
The TACAIR was America’s latest and most advanced fighter jet. The fighter was expected to use an adaptive versatile engine technology to allow longer ranges and high performance. They had proclaimed that it had no rivals, able to outmaneuver anything in the skies, almost invisible to radar, and had the ability to penetrate any airspace at will. Beijing would indeed want this immediately.
“You are certain about this?”
“Very. You know that one of their F-35 Lightning II had been destroyed six months ago when the pilot inadvertently tried to fly into a massive storm front. We’ve known for some time that the Americans never recovered everything from the crash site.”
“And you think you found a part.”
“An important part,” Chen stressed.
Lee fidgeted. He knew his duty, but it irked him that Chen had found something when he had not. With another sigh, he said, “Very well Chen. I will give you rendezvous coordinates in the next hour. I will inform Beijing. I guess they’ll have us sail to Indonesia, first.”
“Why not go directly out of Iran?”
“Because the Americans monitor everything around Iran. We will be detected. Do you want to run the risk of being caught with the part?”
There was a pause over the phone. “Fine. Make it happen.”
Lee hung up and rubbed his eyes. He hated this. Chen would get all the credit and a promotion, and inside of a couple of months, Lee would be right back here, trolling the Indian Ocean for useless scraps of technology.
But, if something happened to Chen…
Lee grinned. Chen was dispensable, although the part he had found was not. The only reason Chen had contacted Lee was because his own avenues of communication with Beijing had failed. Lee’s ship had been decked out with the latest technology in communication, although from all outward appearances, Lee commanded nothing more than a rundown fishing vessel.
He would radio Beijing and inform them of the find, if not the finder. He would make it sound like he had discovered the part. The voyage to Indonesia would take time…time enough for a fatal accident to befall Chen.
Grinning even wider, Lee leaned over and pushed a button on the ship’s internal comm. “Ho Ningh, report to the bridge,” he ordered into it.
While he waited for his first mate, he began to plot. Ho could be counted on to help. He didn’t like this assignment any more than Lee did. Yes, it would work. It had to work.