Chapter 20
The word “anger” is just one letter less than “danger.”
It didn’t take long for Big Guy to interrupt my little reverie. He opened the door, his menacing hulk filling the doorway. In his right hand he carried a nasty looking Glock 40 caliber semiautomatic. “Luk at duh lufbirds, or is it daddy und dotter!” Now, he was the one making jokes. I could tell it was joke by the laughter burping out of his oversized head. If I had only got that damn facelift he wouldn’t have had a joke. Oh well.
I shouted back at him, “Go away, we bought a vacuum cleaner last week and we’ve got plenty of Avon products.” He didn’t get that one. Instead, he lowered his brow and motioned with the gun for us to leave the room. Lisa quietly stood and adjusted her clothing. I stood, but figured my clothing was just fine. I didn’t need to impress anyone; I’d leave that to the mortician.
We walked into the adjacent room where Razor Eyes and the blonde lioness were standing. Razor Eyes was carrying a .38 special snub-nose revolver, the blonde was armed with a little more cleavage than I remembered. In her hand she carried a tape recorder. She was the first to speak, “We want you two to listen to something...you will find it, shall we say, compelling.” She pushed the button and we listened to the role-play conversation.
“Dr. Oldenberger, we are very interested in talking to you about your work. And, as for you Mei Ling, I am not surprised that your only loyalty is to money, but I’m not certain we have a job for you. You see, as far as we are concerned, you failed your job interview. We don’t hire people who can be taken so easily. No, you are of no use to us. Dr. Oldenberger, conversely, is an immense value.”
“You harm her in any way and you won’t have my cooperation!” Harrison Ford couldn’t have said better.
Big Guy must have intuitively sensed my distress over being so much older than the lioness. He curled his upper lip in an evil smile and said, “Oh duh fodder vorries about his little girrl.” His laughter was beginning to annoy me. My gut wasn’t aching anymore, I was getting pissed. Plus the plan was working perfectly. I was ready to move on to the next phase and kick some Russkie butt. Just one problem-- I’d only been in two fights in my life, and I had a perfect 0-2 record.
The blonde lioness was an arrogant bitch. She lowered her head slightly, and smiled at Lisa. “Mei Ling, it has been nice finally meeting you. Now go die.” She nodded at Razor Eyes whose weasel like brain seemed to register pleasure in the task. He pointed the gun to Lisa’s head, grasped a handful of hair, and began to push her from of the room. What happened next happened so fast that no matter how many times I go over it in my mind, I still don’t believe it actually happened.
At first I thought Razor Eyes had really hurt Lisa Marie, she slumped toward the floor and let out an audible moan. The evil little weasel let go of her hair and grabbed for her arm, as if he was going to pull her upright. But, before he got a grasp, Lisa had extended her body like a spring, driving the palm of her right hand upward with such a force that Razor Eye’s nose was relocated into a space somewhere between his ears. Simultaneously her left hand dislodged the snub nose from his hand sending it spiraling directly toward me. I caught it with both hands and just as Big Guy raised the Glock, I aimed the little gun at his broad chest and pulled the trigger. I instinctively closed my eyes at the sound of the gun firing. It wasn’t particularly loud, and I hadn’t shot a gun since Boy Scout Camp when I was 14. I braced for the bullet that was going to bring the big laugh to the big guy. But, Big Guy didn’t return fire so I opened my eyes, the gun still clinched between my two quivering hands. Big Guy was slumped against the wall. I hadn’t hit his chest, but there was a neat little red spot in the middle of his forehead. The bullet hadn’t penetrated his skull, but he was clearly going to have terrible headache when he finally came to. Razor Eyes wasn’t so lucky, he wouldn’t be waking up.
The blonde was no slacker, she yelled something in Russian and angrily lunged for Lisa. Lisa must have played a lot of dodge-the-ball. Nobody moves as quickly as she did without years of playground training. As the blonde spun by her, Lisa shifted into a catlike crouch. The blonde recovered quickly, but Lisa was ready. She brought her front leg up in a powerful kick that drove the blonde into the wall. The Russian took an off balance punch at Lisa who responded with a roundhouse kick to the head. For a minute I thought I was watching a Jackie Chan film, nobody can be that good in real life. This wasn’t a movie, and Lisa was unbelievably good. The blonde must have thought the same thing. She reached for the equalizer she had strapped to her leg, but Lisa was too fast for her. She drove an elbow under the blonde’s jaw. Good guys 3, Russkies 0.
Lisa, adjusting her clothes, looked down at the crumpled blonde. “Nice to meet you too....”
I was too stunned to do anything, but Lisa was a whirlwind of activity. She grabbed the file folder on the table. The envelope with the ticket and the money were there as well. She found my billfold and passport in the desk drawer. She pushed these items across the table toward me. “Take these,” she directed. As I fumbled with the papers and billfold, she cleaned the .38 of my fingerprints. She took one last look around and then whisked me out the door before I had time to fully process what had happened. It turned out we were in an office suite in an old building in Central Vienna. As with many of the older buildings in this part of town, the interior was artfully designed and decorated. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time for sightseeing. I wasn’t too concerned, and anyway, it was like Kathy said after visiting the Grand Tetons, “You see one grand mountain and you’ve seem them all.” I’d seen old buildings like this before. We found the stairs and raced down them into the cool of another Vienna evening.
It took all of about 15 seconds for us to hail a cab. Lisa spoke to the driver in German, and then slipped into the backseat next to me. I was in shock; she, on the contrary, was functioning amazingly well. The driver pulled into traffic, Lisa pulled along next to me. Taking my hand, she said in almost motherly tones, “You okay?”
I had to think for a minute. “I’m just hunky dory dandy,” was my reply.
I certainly knew I wasn’t okay, but I was alive, and I couldn’t complain about that. I figured I had aged about 10 years in the last two days. If I didn’t need a facelift before this trip, there was no doubt now, I would need one when I got back. Of course, getting back was something that was not necessarily a certainty.
We drove for about 10 minutes. Nothing was said. We both seemed lost in our thoughts. However, I was quite certain our thoughts were decidedly different. She was calculating, problem solving, organizing; I was suppressing panic. The cab pulled over at the West Bahnhoff Station, I was right back where most of this had started. The driver pulled into a large parking area lined with buses. Lisa directed him toward the front of the line, and then turned to me and said, “This time, you are going to catch a plane to the U.S. and you are leaving immediately. This bus will take you to the airport. Use the Delta ticket I bought you. Leave the file with me, take everything else. Now, promise me you will do what I tell you.”
“Okay, I’ll catch the plane.”
“Good!” With that she kissed me on the cheek and pushed me from the cab. As the cab pulled away, she leaned out the window and shouted in her mock Texas accent, “See ya later Pilgrim.”
I had enough Deutsche marks in my billfold to pay the fare to the airport. I went to the back of the bus, slumped into an empty seat. I watched the city pass by as the bus wound its way to the airport. I was still in shock, bewildered by everything that had happened. There are times in your life when the events that you experience are so strange, so unpredicted that once the experience has passed you seriously question as whether it happened it all. That was how I was feeling as the bus carried me to the international airport. My body was aching, I was tired, and I desperately needed a coffee. I was hungry too.
The bus dropped me o
ff at International Departures, and I followed the arrows to the Delta counter. The big electronic schedule-board on the wall at the entrance to ticketing area had Delta Flight 187A leaving in two-hours. I’d get a ticket, and then get something to eat. I was nervous as I approached passport control. I had no idea how well connected the bad guys were. I held my breath and crossed my fingers as I handed my passport and ticket to the passport inspector.
“Have you enjoyed your stay in Austria?” the agent inquired.
“It was very eventful--to say the least,” I responded.
“What did you like most?”
Since I hadn’t really seen many of the sights, eaten much of the food, or met many of the people, I was stumped. Plus, I wasn’t in the mood for “Twenty-Questions.” More than that, I was curious as to why the conversation.
“Are you looking forward to going home?” the agent inquired.
“Oh, most definitely....” It was then I saw the two well built young men rushing through the crowd. They looked like Mormon missionaries, without bicycles. I turned away hoping they weren’t going to proselyte me. But, they came right toward me. One wore glasses and had a Clarke Kent hairstyle. He put his hand on my arm and in an urgent tone said, “Dr. Oldenberger, may we talk to you?”
“Sorry fellas, I already have a Book of Mormon and I have plane to catch.”
“Don’t worry sir, you will catch your plane. We are here to assist you, for that matter.” Mormon missionaries will promise you the next world if it means you’ll listen to their message in this one. The one who didn’t look like Clarke Kent said a few words to the passport agent who responded by nodding toward a door just on the other side of the control gate. With his hand still on my arm, Superman led me toward the door. I thought of running, making a commotion, or falling on the floor and begging for mercy, but instead I quietly allowed myself to be led into the little room adjacent to passport control. It was an office of sorts replete with a desk, water cooler, and several chairs.
The one who didn’t look like Clarke Kent broke the silence. “Dr. Oldenberger, we work for the U.S. Government. He pulled his identification from his sports coat. The words Central Bureau of Investigation jumped out at me.
Superman spoke, “You have been through quite an ordeal. And, I might add you are a very lucky man.” His partner interjected, “I’ll bet Dr. Oldenberger is tired and hungry.” He turned to me, “Sir, would you like something to eat?”
“That would be nice,” was my hollow reply.
The boys turned out to be okay. They got me some food, a liter of orange juice and some Sissi Taler Vienna Chocolate. They weren’t full of lot of information, but it was clear that they were there to make certain I got on the plane to the U.S. They also tactfully encouraged me to forget everything that had happened. I asked about Lisa Marie Chin, but they claimed not to know her. Both, however, were certain that my Chinese benefactor would be just fine. How could they know?
Finally it was time for me to check-in and board my flight back to the states. Just as I was about to pass down the corridor to the plane, Superman handed me an envelope. “Open this when you are airborne,” he said. I took the envelope, waved goodbye to the missionaries and hoofed it down the jetway.
Thirty-minutes later and 30,000 feet higher, I decided it was time to open the envelope. It contained a folded piece of paper. The notepaper was the color of a peach with a scent that matched the color. I unfolded the note. The Chinese character for good luck spilled like a shadow across the stationery. The ornate part of a stickpin was securely attached to the paper. Written in a girlish hand, just below a little dancing Armadillo were these words, “Another time...another place.”
Chapter 21
It is a great kindness to entrust someone with a secret
he feels so important while sharing it with his friends.
It's almost been a month since I had my Vienna adventure. Not a day goes by that I don't replay bits of the Vienna tape in my mind. On several occasions I've even started to write about it. But, just like my motorcycle-adventure those twenty-years ago, I just get started and then the word processing unit in my brain shuts down. Some people, I suppose, just aren't cut out to be writers. On the other hand, there are people like James Lee Burke, Kinky Freedom, and the incredible Erika Lopez who have the gift. In fact, Erika has another book out--Hoochie Mommas. I hear Clint Eastwood is making another movie, and rumor has it that a new semester is about to begin. Within another week, I will be back in the classroom and probably starting to notice the age lines again. As Kathy would say, "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
During the first week home, I followed the admonition of the CIA and kept the details of my trip pretty close to my vest. I told Wendell most of it since I assumed he was all ready well briefed and probably knew more than I did. Naturally, he acted like he didn't have the foggiest idea as to what I was talking about. During the third week home, I told Kathy and Heath. Isn't that how secrets work? When you promise someone "not to tell," what you really mean is that you won't tell people whom you don't trust. Of course, the people you tell have their own circle of people they trust, and so on to infinity. Sooner or later, every secret finds its way into society, and like a lost dog it runs up and down every street until it finds its way home. It's bound to happen. By the time the secret works its way back home it will have gone through the gossip and rumor mills and taken on a life of its own. The end product will probably be more interesting than its genesis. One of these days one of my students will raise her hand and ask about the beautiful Chinese spy I was married to when I worked for the CIA in Vienna.
As for my obsession with a facelift, it no longer seems important to take a nip or a tuck in order to give the impression of false youth. Yet, my friends still take pleasure in teasing me about both my age and my expressed interest in cosmetic augmentation. After I told Heath about my adventure, he responded that I should not only have cosmetic surgery, but I should have my entire facial structure altered to look like James Bond. Of course, I assume he meant the most recent James Bond. I know if I had asked he would have said, Sean Connery.
Kathy, has a different take on it. She told me, "You can make a great stew in a crappy looking pot." I tend to agree with Kathy. In fact, I don't even think about how old I look anymore. It all seems so trivial now. One of the things I learned from Vienna is that it's not how you look, it's how you live that matters. If you are fully engaged in living, you don't have time to worry about a few wrinkles or a blemish. Life is a short-term proposition, and I don't intend to spend it looking in the mirror. Somebody, a lot wiser than me said, "Life is a dance over fire and water," not "life is sitting safely at home dabbing your face with lubricating creams and antioxidants." If you are fully involved in some exciting project or worthy cause, you will find life too interesting to worry about whether or not you look your age. I understand Clint a little better, nowadays, "I don't give lick what people think."
THE END (And the beginning of the CB Oldenberger Series)
Cast of Characters:
Chester Belton Oldenberger: People often ask if I am Professor Oldenberger. Let me make this perfectly clear, CB is definitely not me. He's a fiction. I have a life, I don't have a green thumb, and I don’t ride a motorcycle or bicycle. And as for a facelift, not a chance, I like the way Clint Eastwood looks. And, by the way have you seen Robert Redford lately!
Lisa Marie Chin: The lioness is based on a real-life Lisa who really lives in Texas, is Chinese, is gorgeous, and is an amazing person, but to my knowledge doesn’t have a Texas accent and is probably not a spy.
Wendell: There really is a Wendell, but his real life is much more exciting than that of the character depicted in this book. He’s a retired “government employee,” and a retired professor and his name isn’t Wendell.
Kathy: Kathy was played by Kathy and is a real marriage and family counselor. She i
s also hilarious and has a laugh that can crack coconuts, strip paint, and shatter glass. She’s my good friend and source of wisdom and comfort. She is no longer with us, but her spirit certainly is and for that reason I speak of her in the present tense. This book is dedicated to her.
Big Guy: The guy at Albertson’s who cut in front of me with a full cart when I only had one item. When he turned and smirked I knew I had to write a novel—he was too good of a bad guy to waste in real life.
Razor Eyes: The little weasel who stole my bicycle when I was in graduate school.
Blonde Russian Spy: The blond I met in S.F. who flirted with me, asked that I call her, gave me a number that actually turned out to be the number for the Mitchell Bros. Porno Theatre.
The CIA Guys: I’m of the mind that two out every four Mormon missionaries are really CIA agents.
Vienna: Vienna was played by Vienna, one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
NO PLANTS WERE ACTUALLY HARMED IN THE WRITING OF THIS BOOK.
(Except for the one that I forgot to water because I was so busy reading maps of Vienna, and because I’m not a botanist.)
Thanks for reading Facelift. It was fun to write. I hope you enjoyed reading it. There will be more, watch for the next CB novel. --J.C. Canon
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