REVENGE
A short ecological thriller story by Ole Nikolajsen
[
The river was quite narrow at this point. Only about 50 feet wide as it was pressed into a gully between two
steep inclines of heavy red clay. It had once been a beautiful place where proud Malay fathers had
taken their sons. In the deep rain forest behind the inclines they had shown
the young men the secret places for the best durians, those evil smelling but
much favoured spiny fruits. The river itself was rushing, being almost the color of blood. The many cuts into the forest were causing
enormous erosion and the red clay and soil was washed down the inclines into
the foaming water. It was one of the many tributaries to the powerful Pahang river on the east side of
the
It had been raining heavily for the last four days, rain as it only
happens in the tropics. Inch after inch after inch, a
waterfall pouring down. Normally this place would be busy with activity,
heavy bulldozers making access roads into the forest, being followed by teams
of woodcutters with their chain saws and finally the huge timber transporting
trucks. There would be the noise of the large diesel engines, mixed with the
spluttering of the chain saw two-stroke motors, the high pitched voices of
Chinese workers yelling encouragements to each other and an occasional
helicopter whirling over. The smoke from the shrubs on fire to scare away
snakes and insects, mixed with diesel fumes, cooking fires and other smells of
human activity was so strong that it even disguised the foul smell of the huge Rafflesia flowers, three feet across, the world's largest. The mighty rain forest was being decimated.
The rain had temporarily stopped the wood
cutting and the heavy machinery was idle under huge canvas tarpaulins. The
workers were back in the relative comfort of their camp, fifty-odd portacabins, a powergenerator, a
workshop and a helipad three miles downstream.
If one looked closer at the inclines making the gully one could see huge
Tapang trees still standing proud, some towering to
250 feet. In between were scattered ironwood trees, their wood so heavy that it
cannot float. Of the 260 kinds of trees which had once, that is four months
ago, grown in this place only these, the most precious in timber value had been
spared. Most of the creepers had been cleaned away and the trees were ready to
be cut. The ironwood would later be shaped into piles and used for piling work
in making the foundation for a new quay in
The multitude of orchids were
enjoying the rain, their flowers glistening with moisture. In between the still
towering trees were small charming groves of bamboo,
they had been too small and insignificant for cutting and had no commercial
value.
That was a very, very serious mistake.
The rain poured continually down and the
once docile river on which one normally could paddle in a dugout canoe was an
inferno of rushing water more than 20 feet above normal level.
On the top of the incline there was a
rustle in the bamboo leaves and if it had been possible to analyze the soil
around one would have noticed biochemical changes of many kinds taking place.
The bamboo groves had networks of roots, some dense, some hardly noticeable,
from which complicated signals in the form of refined chemical changes were
being emitted. These signals were received by nearby plants and understood,
others were relayed further on and when absorbed by the larger, and more
advanced trees, transformed, copied and transmitted via telepathy. Suddenly
both tops of the inclines erupted, all the large trees started to fall like in
a prepared sequence -it was prepared-!
Within a few minutes all the remaining
trees had disappeared from the inclines and now formed a formidable barrier
down in the river. They floated and fused together and soon a dam from bank to
bank and more than 75 feet high had formed. Large stones and clay washed down
from the inclines further strengthened the construction.
Half an hour later three miles downstream in timber
Fifteen minutes later he alerted the
chief-engineer, a small, stout, tough looking Japanese
and he immediately came rushing.
"Wake the helicopter pilot" he
said, "the river must have been blocked further upstream, he must give us an assessment."
Like most of the almost 200 camp
inhabitants, Jim Cunning, the helicopter pilot, had been sick for the last two
days and was in bed when the phone rang.
"What did you say?"
"You want me to fly in this weather,
you must be crazy!"
"It's an emergency!"
"OK, I'll be over in a few minutes.
Alert Baboo and John, the two Indian mechanics, and
tell them to come to the helipad," Jim ordered.
Ten minutes later the two Indian mechanics
and Jim were down at the helipad located on the edge of the camp. Here they met
the chief-engineer and the duty officer. Jim looked skeptically
at the sky, he estimated the cloud ceiling to be 200
feet with a visibility of maybe a quarter of a mile, far below his official
minimum.
"It is a serious situation" Mr. Homare explained, "all the heavy equipment is still in
the forest and I don't like the speed with which the river ceased to run. You
must have a go at it."
Jim looked around,
it might be possible to at least hover taxi, that is to crawl almost at walking
speed, up the river if you kept to the middle of the riverbed.
"OK, I will have a try, but you must
come with me as I need an extra pair of eyeballs," he said. Jim knew
pretty well that it was part of his job and fat salary to take a chance like
that.
"Take off the tarpaulin," he
ordered the two Indians. "Is it fuelled and inspected?" he inquired.
"Yes, Sir!" They answered in chorus.
Jim walked around the American manufactured
"National, my ass," he whispered
to himself. It was well known that it was a 100% Japanese company owned and run
from
He checked every little detail on the
outside of the helicopter, a golden rule for survival.
Then he opened the door and entered the
cockpit and sat down in the right-hand seat. From the small pocket in the door
he took the checklist and completed "Before start-up check". Next he
ensured that he had his map and assured that the small piece of silk thread was
taped to the windscreen on the outside. He yelled to Baboo
to straighten it out. In this
modern helicopter with all its newest gadgets, this was the most
important "instrument". It ensured he was flying "clean",
not slipping unnoticed sideways.
"Stand away", he yelled and waved
everybody away except John who stood on guard with the fire extinguisher.
He put the master switch on, pressed the
starter button and when he had 20% revolutions on the engine, pressed the
ignition switch. The engine lighted up and soon increased to 100%.
"All perfect", he mumbled to
himself, then went through the "After engine start check" and then
the "Before take-off check".
Everything was ready and he waved Mr. Homare to come in and strap-in in the left-hand seat. Then
he checked the wind direction from looking at the windsock next to the helipad.
"Hell", he said out loud, the
wind was gusting and shifting from all directions.
Nevertheless he disengaged the rotorbrake and soon the main rotor picked up a stable 250
rpm. After a while he increased the power and manipulated the collective lever.
They started to rise slowly.
When they had reached a height of about 10
feet, the engine suddenly started to loose power.
"Fuck it," Jim exclaimed and
pushed the collective lever down. The helicopter slammed down onto the helipad
first with its left skid then its right, lost its balance and the tailrotor hit the concrete.
Jim battled with the controls, switched off
the power and then the helicopter stood still. It had lost its two fiberglass tail rotorblades, but
otherwise there was no damage to be seen.
"What went wrong?" Mr. Homare wanted to know.
"Shut up, you idiot" Jim cried
while he tried to analyze what could be wrong with his baby.
"It is either that too much water has
been injected into the engine because of the rain or something with the
fuel," he then said
towards the Japanese with
an "I am sorry" gesture.
Baboo and John approached with frightened silly
smiles.
What's wrong, Sir? You lost the tailrotor, Sir!" they said.
"Did you remember to drain the fuel
tank this morning?" Jim angrily yelled at them.
"Yes, Sir! we always drain
the fuel tank for residue water every morning," they answered keenly.
"Baboo, I
want you to take a sample of the fuel and rush it to the camp lab, to check it
for contamination and hurry up," Jim ordered.
The Indian tapped off half a quart and ran
off.
Ten minutes later he was back dripping with
water from the rain.
"Mr. Soakes,
in the lab, says the fuel is contaminated with traces of something which looks
like algae," he explained.
"You good-for-nothing so-called Indian
mechanics, didn't you clean the fuel tank during the last maintenance as I told
you!" Jim exploded in fury.
"But we did, Sir!" they said
sheepishly.
"OK, go over and take a sample from
the tank." He pointed towards the fiberglass
2000 gallon jet fuel tank situated fifty yards away.
About 10 minutes later they came back
followed by Mr. Soakes, the Lab.Chief.
"The last sample is completely
contaminated by algae," he said. "I have read about algae living in
mineral oil, but this is the first time I have come across it personally."
"Damned unlucky," Jim said and
turned towards Mr. Homare, "You better radio
Camp 1 and 9 and warn them about the fuel contamination in case they get the
same problem."
"No more flying today, back to bed. Baboo and John, cover my baby," he said and started to
walk towards his portacabin. Mr. Homare
dutifully hurried over to the radio-portacabin and
told operator there to call Camp 1 and 9, the two other camps with helicopters.
But there was no answer. Little did they know that the helicopter from Camp
no.1 had taken off half an hour ago. Its engine had
stopped when it was 100 feet up and it had hit the radio-portacabin
and exploded.
Camp no.9 did not answer because less than
10 minutes earlier it had been hit by a torrential wave of water, logs and mud.
Camp no.9 no longer existed.
First a low rumble could be heard, only
barely discernible above the drumming of the rain. Then rapidly it grew louder
and louder. Without any other warning suddenly a wall of water fifty feet high,
huge Tapang tree logs and steel rod-like ironwood
trunks, huge stones and mud appeared in the river valley upstream from timber
Camp no.11.
Within 10 seconds it had passed the camp or
what had been the camp. There was hardly a single item left.
The flood continued down the river with a
speed of more than 30 miles per hour at first, clearing everything. Five more
timber camps and at least 20 Malay kampongs on the river disappeared within
minutes.
Everywhere the killer flood passed, a rush
of almost excitement went through the flimsy leaves of the bamboos in small and
insignificant groves overlooking the river.
***
Timber Camp no.7 was not even close to a stream or a river and there was
no helicopter serving it.
The camp had been cut as a clearing into
the virgin rain forest. The felling was going on around it on the mountain
slopes. Crews were leaving the camp every morning. It was a cosy place, 25 portacabins arranged in a semicircle around what was almost
like a plaza. Some of the Chinese workers had planted small gardens where they
grew papaya fruits and a few tomatoes. A fresh water supply was provided for by
a small clear stream running through the middle of the camp and it was
carefully filtered and treated before being used.
Because of this the clan of the bamboos had
planned their attack on this camp differently but no less efficiently.
Four months ago the oldest plant had
received the message from the clan in
"The camp has to be destroyed and all
the inhabitants killed."
The local clan of the Phycomyceteae
fungi had been alerted and had promised its complete cooperation. Soon from
every direction the spores were blowing with the wind and drifting with
moisture and running water into the camp. For anyone not alerted to the danger
it was completely invisible.
After a while small insignificant patches
of grey fungi were growing in corners of the cabins, especially where the
Indian and Malay cleaning boys were not reaching with their filthy rags. Here
and there a patch grew on the underside of a camp bed or in the moisture of a
workman's boots.
For weeks the fungi had been ready. There
was not a single place in the camp that could not be attacked at a moment's
notice.
But the old bamboo was experienced and
clever it was not relying on a single stroke alone.
It was going to be a three pronged attack.
At the same time the Phycomyceteae
fungi clan had promised its help, the clan of the Nux
Vomica tree had been asked for its assistance. This
clan was more desperate than any other of the rain-forest trees. It only lived
in the forest, although it had managed to disperse members to most rain forests
in
There were several Nux
Vomica trees on the mountain slope on which the camp
was situated. With shoots and small new plants being moved forward, several of
the plants were now situated next to the small stream providing the water
supply for the camp. The filtering and water treatment system cleaning the
water for the camp had of course never been designed to detect Strychnine nor to neutralize it. The Nux Vomica clan was ready for its attack.
The third prong of the attack was to be
provided for by the tree ferns.
Being a clan of extreme age and therefore
not very clever or important, it was bluntly told its task. A road had been cut
into the forest to enable the large logs harvested to be trucked out. On the side
of the road a belt of about 100 yards had been cleared both left and right to
keep the forest at bay and thus ensure an undisturbed flow of traffic. In the
last three months large numbers of ferns and tree ferns had occupied this
space. The timber company had not bothered to move them as the ferns at first
had kept the dust down and when it rained was preventing the soil erosion which
normally could cut roads suddenly. This kept up production quotas which of
course was highly desireable. The chief road engineer
had even suggested that ferns and tree ferns in the future should be planted on
the roadsides.
Over a distance of more than ten miles the
ferns had completely undermined the entire road. The ferns were ready for the
attack.
Four days ago the Nux Vomica trees had been
ordered to drop a few fruits and leaves into the stream. On the same day the
fungi in the camp had been instructed to release small amounts of its spores
containing a highly poisonous toxin.
The result was that all the men in the camp
were either in bed or ill with a mysterious sickness the camp doctor could not
diagnose. It was consequently called a new local strain of influenza, a theory
being enforced by the fact that several other camps had been attacked by the
same illness.
The old bamboo had thus assured that all
134 men in timber
Up on top of the slope of the mountain,
exactly at the same time as it happened near
Along the whole length of the ten mile long
road the slope below started to loosen and slide. Then the road itself slid
down first in large chunks of gravel and stone, then
the avalanche separated and rumbled down taking everything with it. This
included four timber camps and seven new kampongs which had recently been build under the Government's resettlement scheme.
More than a hundred thousand fern plants
were also destroyed, but being of a primitive species they regenerate easily.
Because there were no trees left along most
of the road there was nothing to hold the avalanche back.
At the same time in
Shortly before that however, the Nux Vomica
trees had released all they had in them. Thousands of fruits and tens of
thousands of leaves had dropped into the small stream, which was saturated with
strychnine. The fortunate ones who had escaped the spores died, suffering the
most terrible pains upon touching the water.
There were no survivors left in
***
One hundred miles to the east, on the coast just south of Kuala Terenganu, the oil company EXXON has a large facility
containing an export oil-shipment harbor, a refinery
and huge storage facilities. It is the center of all
the
On the second floor in the administration
building a young Chinese clerk by the name Chin Bing Bao,
called Charlie by almost everybody, was sitting in front of his computer.
Three weeks ago he had been ordered by his
uncle in Kuantan to visit him. His "uncle"
in Kuantan was not his real uncle,
they were only members of the same club in Kuantan.
"The worshippers of the third scale of the tail of the dragon" it was
called. It belonged to the Chinese TRIAD organization.
When he arrived in Kuantan
his uncle had given him a small parcel containing two plastic bags of each
about a pound of green powder. He had only wondered slightly what the plastic
bags might contain, its green color was new to him,
normally he would have bags with white powder...heroin.
His uncle's instructions had been precise
and he had been told to repeat them several times.
"You must put one full teaspoon in
every storage tank at the oil harbor. If then in the
future any tank is emptied and cleaned you must do it again!" He recalled.
It was easy for him.
He had once been in the quality control
department and knew all the "guys". He would help out with taking
samples from the tanks and slip the powder in.
When it came to cleaning the tanks, that was also an easy matter. He would just find the
tank cleaning schedule programme on his computer, note down what was happening
for the next days and go there when the tank had been filled again. They always
took a sample of oil when a tank was filled after a cleaning.
It was the easiest task he had ever been
required to undertake by his uncle. For that he was to be paid 500 Ringgits every month, it was more than his salary.
In that way he could afford to place a bid on his favorite number in the gambling shop every week. There
might even be money left to have a few Guinness beers down in the Chinese bar.
The green powder Charlie placed in the
tanks did nothing, at least not at that moment.
They were spores of algae. A special kind of algae which had been developed especially to
fight large oilspills.
It was a clever idea which had been devised
by British scientists employed by the BP oil company.
Before the powder got as far as to Charlie,
however, there had been several mysterious transactions.
It had all come on telefaxes
to the TRIAD headquarters in
Strangely enough the TRIAD leaders had
complied fully and immidiately. It was because:
-The first telefax had contained a secret
TRIAD code which was so rare that it had not been seen in the last 400 years.
-The payment had been substantial. They had been told,
where in the
Their first instruction had been to get a
sample of the special algae developed in
For the first task the Chinese TRIAD had
used liberal amounts of money, but it was the kidnappings of two of the relatives of a
scientist, who was of Chinese descent which finally ensured they got the
required sample.
The rest had been simple.
Nobody but the highest leaders knew what it
was all about. It could possibly be argued if even they knew.
It is a cruel world, but business is
business especially for the TRIAD.
They did not know that there were special
genes in the spores of the algae. These had been coded such that they would
need an activation to start the process.
Only the chief of the clan of the bamboos
knew that code.
The contamination which happened to the jet
fuel at Timber Camp No.1, 9 and 11 was an actual test of the capabilities of
the algae.
Charlie had been instructed to place what
amounted to a pin head of green powder in the fuel truck which provided JP-1
kerosene to the timber camps.
Before that he had to pick a bamboo leaf
from the grove just outside the oil harbor entrance
and put it in the tank after the powder had been added. The leaf contained the
required code.
If he had found the instructions strange he
did not say so. He had been promised an extra award of 200 Ringgits
for the job. It was very, very easy money.
Inside the tank of the fuel truck the algae
started to multiply with amazing speed. Already before the truck had arrived at
the first camp the jet fuel was unusable.
The algae would as its first action clog
the fuel filter and prevent any fuel from passing through.
Over a longer time the algae would eat the
oil, kerosene or petrol and gradually split it like yeast will transform sugarwater into alcohol. The algae would transform oil into
carbon monoxide, water and some tar, the impurities.
Charlie and hundreds of other couriers had
by now planted a time bomb in almost every important oil facility in the
***
TV-reporter Mike Ward was sitting in his hotel room at Tanjung Jara, a beautiful resort
about 50 miles north of Kuantan and 20 miles south of
Kuala Terenganu. The rain was still pouring down and
was it not for his Toyota Landcruiser, they would never have made it on the coast road up from Kuantan.
Normally he lived at the comfortable Hyatt
Hotel in Kuantan when he was on the East Coast. There
they had all the best facilities, good food and served plenty of alcohol, which
otherwise could be a problem in this area.
Mike Ward was a freelance reporter, but CNN
would take reports from him if they were dramatic and
sensational.
"We were lucky we managed to sell that
flash last Thursday" Mike said to his cameraman, Wang.
They were sharing the room, but except for
them the whole resort village was empty. It was still the monsoon season and it
had been raining for 8 days now without stopping. That kept even the
expatriates from
It was Wang who had suggested that they go
there, he had contacts at the oil harbor and they
were going to meet one tonight.
"Mike, I think our footage from the
last three days is bloody good," Wang remarked.
"I think you should call CNN and tell
them that you have a follow up on what they accepted last Thursday and that we
can relay the pictures any time," he continued.
"No, I'm not sure, there's something
missing in our story, it's just an ordinary disaster tale," Mike answered.
"And who cares if a few brown boys loose their lives," he cynically
added.
They had been busy the last three days.
First they had taken a road up towards the forest. They had only driven for 25
miles with many difficulties in their
Once more they had been lucky. A Malay
family came out of the jungle and could tell that many kampongs had been
destroyed by flash floods, avalanches of sliding mud and falling trees. The old
man could even tell them that they had heard that the timber camps had
completely disappeared. Lastly the old man had added: "Those white devils
in the forest have killed so many trees that the old tree spirits are coming
out for revenge."
Mike had laughed at the remark, but sitting
here in Tanjung Jara he
suddenly remembered.
"Do you remember, Wang, what the old
man in the jungle said about the tree spirits?" Mike asked.
Wang became ashen grey in his face and
answered in a low voice: "Yes, Mike, I remember, but this is too dangerous,
you should not use the supernatural for a story. Anyway, it was a silly old man
and who believes him," he added to get Mike off the idea.
The next day they had gone to Pekan south of Kuantan, where the
Pahang river runs into the
sea.
The river had been awesome, it was about 20
feet over its normal level and it carried everything with it in a fast, but
calm way. There had been something definitive about it. They had got some very
good footage. A whole wooden Malay house had floated past, then a dead cow, its
carcass inflated in the heat, its four legs pointing towards the black sky.
Wang had used his powerful telelens to show human
bodies stuck in the roots of large mangrove trees. At one time they thought
they saw a white/blue piece of a tailboom from a
helicopter.
They had interviewed an old toothless Malay
fisherman and he had told them a good story:
"Here where the river meets the sea,
there are still many crocodiles. The huge kind which lives in
saltwater. Normally they will fight the sharks for meat but for the last
three days there have been so many corpses in the river that both the
crocodiles and the sharks are fat."
Then Mike remembered that the old man had
added:
"All the white devils in the forest
have disturbed the big black cobra, the king of the forest, and now it is
taking revenge." And then the old man had spat at his feet.
"Do you remember what the old
fisherman in Pekan said about the cobra, being the
king of the forest?" Mike said to Wang who was busy editing his
videotapes.
"Yes, of course, but don't get carried
away by old men's superstitious talk," he answered looking very disturbed.
On the third day they had first gone to the
Pahang state police headquarters in Kuantan
and seen the Chief Police Officer. From this headquarters Mike knew they had
connections to all police stations and outposts in the whole state either by
telephone or radio.
"Salamat Pagi, Suleiman my old friend," he had greeted the
Chief of Police, an enormously fat Malay. They were old friends and Mike had
often taken him to the bar in the Hyatt Hotel for a few whiskies.
"Good morning Mike, I guess the rumors from the forest bring you here. I have heard that
you were there two days ago and in Pekan
yesterday." Police Colonel Suleiman bin Muhamad
took great pride in being well informed about what was going on in his state.
"Confidentially, I can tell you that
this is the worst natural disaster we have had for 25 years. We have lost
communication with almost half of our police posts in the forest. The others
report numerous flash floods, large mudslides and large scale uprooting of
trees. What worries me most though are the reports of
an influenza epidemic raging in the new settlements we have built where the
forest was cleared."
He took a little pause and then continued:
"However, as long as the rain
continues it is impossible to get any overview of the situation. I have
requested the Air Force at the air base to send out a plane, but they say the
weather is too bad."
He paused once more and then said with
bowed head:
"Personally I think it is Allah's, the
merciful and gracious, way of letting us know that we should keep away from the
forest."
Looking up again he continued:
"Another matter, Mike, do you trust
this cameraman of yours? He is a Chinese, you cannot trust them, I would advise
you to get a good Malay for the job!"
"Thank you my good friend, as usual
you are well informed. Thanks for the information," Mike said bowing
slightly.
"I will look for a
suitable Malay when I need a new cameraman," he quickly added while
thinking "Go to hell, and get one of your agents to sniff in my
footsteps."
After this visit they had driven 5 miles on
the
Mike had flashed his press card and soon
they had been invited to the base commander's office.
"Yes, there is a difficult situation
in the forest tracts," the smartly dressed Wing Commander had agreed.
"We tried to get a Nuri helicopter in there yesterday, but the pilot had
to return. You know we have received several distress messages on the
international frequency, 121.5 megacycles," the Wing Commander revealed to
show that he knew what was going on.
"As soon as the weather clears we are
going to send one of our C-130 maritime reconnaissance planes over the area.
You and your cameraman can go with them," he added after a brief
hesitation.
"Personally I think this disaster has
happened because they are cutting too much forest and in that way the weather
patterns are disrupted. But don't quote me on that one," he laughingly
added.
Wang had been permitted to film the row of
camouflaged Sea King helicopters, the "Nuri" or bee as the Malaysians
call them, as they sat inactive glistering in the rain on the apron. They had
also been shown the two C-130 Hercules transports they used as reconnaissance
planes.
The Wing Commander had promised to call him
when the plane was ready. That would be a scoop.
"Now we are sitting in this hotel room
and still have not got this story together," Mike reflected. "Maybe
the Gods are angry, whoever they might be, as everybody seems to be eager to
tell me," he thought.
"Wang, where was it we were going to
meet this friend of yours, Charlie was his name wasn't it?" he said to
Wang who was still busy with his editing.
"He is not a friend
, he is just an old study pal of mine. We went to university together in
"As you know, the underworld sometimes
has better lines of communication, maybe they know what is going on in the
forest."
Mike nodded in agreement.
At
Wang saw Charlie at a table in the far
corner of the room. He was apparently on his third Guinness beer, as there were
3 empty bottles and a half full glass in front of him.
"Hi Charlie, long time no see,"
greeted Wang.
"Meet my friend Mike, he is English
and lives in Port Klang."
"Hi Wang, Hi Mike, nice to meet you,
sit down," Charlie answered. He was half drunk.
"What's it like working with the oil
companies these days?" Wang wanted to know.
"Very, very good. They are paying me a large salary and I
have got a very important position," Charlie bragged.
Mike moved closer, this sounded
interesting, no company in
"What is your position," Mike
wanted to know.
"I work in the computer division, I am
in charge of statistics," Charlie lied. "But that is not my most
important duty. I have a secret job as well," He added cryptically with a
sly smile.
"Miss! Bring us a bottle of whiskey," Mike
yelled to the young Chinese waitress. Then he added: "And not the useless
Indian firewater, bring me a bottle of Johnny Walker. Make it a black
label."
There were whistles of admiration from the
nearest tables.
A few minutes later the waitress brought
the bottle and three glasses plus four small plates with delicacies. Fried
squid, dried Chinese plums, pink colored salty
vegetables and peanuts. Mike noticed that the bottle had already been opened
and the black label looked very worn. He smiled to
himself, it was not important now, but he prepared his stomach for Indian
whiskey of the worst kind.
"I thought that we needed some good
stuff, fill your glasses.”: He said gesturing them to
go ahead.
"Bottoms up." He suggested and he felt his throat and
stomach react to the raw alcohol to which artificial smoke taste had been
added.
"I am writing a book about the oil
industry, I hope you can give me a few inside tips." Mike lied smiling towards Charlie and blinking secretly to Wang.
"Ah, you are a journalist,"
Charlie answered with obvious disgust.
"No, no just a novelist," Mike
reassured him and Wang nodded in agreement.
Mike filled up their glasses and they had
another bottoms up the Chinese way.
"Sometimes it must be a bit boring to
sit with the computer and do dry statistics," Mike suggested to Charlie.
"Isn't there ever any excitement going on? Maybe you have heard something
from one of the oil exploration camps in the forest?"
"No, that is not my department,"
Charlie said uninterested. Then he suddenly continued: "As a matter of
fact, yesterday I heard somebody saying that it was strange that we had not
heard from them at all."
"Tell us more." Wang pleaded with
him, but Charlie had lost interest in the subject.
After a little while, but what seemed hours
of silence Charlie said:
"I am part of a new project at the harbor,
we are putting a new secret additive into the oil. Very, very
secret."
"Who is in charge of this and what
kind of additive?" Mike wanted to know, now fully alert. Secretly he
thanked his time in the air force for his ability to take alcohol.
"I am in charge," said Charlie
proudly. "It is a secret green powder I get from Kuantan.
Only last week I had to treat a fuel truck as well. It was loaded with jet fuel
going to the timber camps."
He thought for a while and then added:
"Strange, I had to pick a leaf from a
bamboo and put it in the tank as well." Then his head fell down on the
table and he was out.
Mike and Wang looked at each other,
puzzled.
Mike called the waitress and paid her the
200 Ringgits she charged for the "genuine"
Johnny Walker Black Label. He asked if she knew Charlie and she assured them
that she would get one of the other workers from the oil company compound to
take him home.
Mike and Wang then drove back to their
hotel room and noticed that the rain had stopped. There were even a few stars
twinkling down through holes in the cloud.
It was six in the morning when Wang woke Mike up by shaking him
violently.
"Wake up, Mike, CNN has just been on
the phone, I called them last night without you knowing. They want a LIVE
report as soon as possible. I am going outside to rig up the satellite link. It
is beautiful weather, the sun is just rising and there are no clouds. Take an
hour or so while I transfer our tapes, it is going to be a great piece."
Exactly one hour later Mike stood on the
white beach, the enormous waves were washing ashore in the background and Wang
was ready with his camera.
Out of view was
the small satellite disc and the 40 or so hotel staff watching.
"This is Mike Ward reporting live for
CNN from
"When you look at the sky above me and
the sunny beach behind me you might find it difficult to believe that this
part of the world has just witnessed its worst natural disaster in 25
years."
He paused and continued in his firm, fast
and professional voice:
"Elders here, yes even some unnamed
officials, believe this is the revenge of the gods of the rain forest for the
destruction which has been put upon them for the last thirty years. Three days
ago I was in the jungle and from what I heard and what you will now see, the
destruction has been devastating. The large Pahang river is transporting hundreds of bodies down to the sea
where they are being devoured by huge crocodiles and sharks. Officials in Kuantan the capital of the state of Pahang
estimate that more than 10,000 persons have vanished. It is a fact that the
police has lost contact with many of their posts in
the jungle. It has also been reported that thousands of people have become sick
in a new influenza epidemic, some have even died."
"This is Mike Ward reporting for CNN
in
"Bravo Mike well done." Wang said
and patted him on the shoulder.
***
At about
Apparently he had been drunk and had
slipped in the mud next to the road. Then he had been so unlucky as to hit a
small growth of bamboo. It looked like some sharp shoots of the bamboo had
penetrated him, one exactly through the heart.
***
Later that year many other strange things happened in the World
which would irreversible change its course, but that is another story and a
much longer one.