Page 24 of Help

  * * *

  JP saw Greg open his office door and called out, “Greg.”

  Greg stood by the doorway. He was good looking, tall and always well-suited. A bachelor at a stage where the word ‘marriage’ brought shivers. A few times, Greg got JP to come with him to his parties and realized JP was out of place in his fast-paced world. A wholesome family gathering was for JP. That was where he was most comfortable and fun to have around. Greg once said to JP, ‘It's a pity, I don't have a sister to pair you with.’

  In contrast, Greg always sported a business suit at work that looked perfect on him. Unlike JP, he was meticulous with his office’s appearance. How Greg maintained a neat and orderly room was something JP always wondered.

  Greg held the door open as he eyed his partner somewhat amused. “You going to a party?”

  The question surprised JP then remembered his unusual attire. “No.”

  “I bet there’s something special. People like you normally dress up for weddings or funerals,” Greg quipped as they walked in his office.

  “Nothing special and definitely not a funeral. I got a replacement for Beth,” JP said as they sat. “She speaks German and God knows how many others. Very intelligent . . . simple and old fashioned. Not your type.”

  “You mean, your type,” Greg replied with a grin. “I bet I’ll be meeting Mary Poppins.”

  “She's really an extraordinary person. Not for you . . . a nice girl,” JP hinted though unaware as Greg had ways with women.

  “The word 'nice' is definitely not for me. I'm inclined to gorgeous. If you need any help, you know where to find me, Partner.”

  “I may take you up on that,” JP reacted.

  “Going to business, I want you to look at something.” Greg took a manila envelope from his briefcase. “All our problems will be solved if we get this,” Greg said as he handed it to JP.

  JP pulled the documents within the envelop and went over its pages. It was an invitation to bid for a military contract. “The requirement is similar to Horsch, but more stringent,” he commented.

  “Full automation is the name of the game, a thinking robot. We can use Gilda. Hit two birds with one stone except this one is perched higher.”

  “Gilda can do everything but speed. The only way we can go for the speed is for you to simplify the mechanical design. If you come up with it, I can create the program. The ball is on your lap otherwise, we can kiss this project goodbye.”

  “I was afraid you’d say something like that. The military must lower their expectation, else, no one in the industry will take the challenge. Let's concentrate on what we can do. You said mechanical simplification of ten percent won’t mean much programming wise?”

  “Too small a leap. At least twenty-five. Remember, the program is dependent on the number of independent mechanical links. Simplifying the mechanism . . .” JP continued their discussion.

  Twenty minutes later, Sonny, with Gilda's arm and shoulder assembly, and a rolled blueprint, barged into the office. So excited, he forgot to knock. “Greg, check this out,” he said as he walked directly to the engineering table on one corner of the room, forgetting Lulu was with him. Lulu remained at the doorway.

  Greg said to JP, “We'll brainstorm on the project later,” then headed for the engineering table without seeing Lulu at the doorway.

  JP ushered Lulu in and got her to sit on a sofa within Greg’s room. Since Greg was busy with Sonny, he briefed Lulu on her job.

  Sonny said to Greg as soon as Greg was near, “I think we got something.” The robotic arm was on the table alongside a rolled-out blueprint. He explained a new design concept.

  Greg leaned on the table and intensely listened as Sonny explained what was uncovered.

  JP glanced at Greg and Sonny across the room. He noticed Sonny was extremely excited as his pointing finger raced all over the blueprints explaining something to Greg. He said to Lulu, “You cease to amaze me. It’s obvious you explained something that got Sonny so charged up.”

  “I just gave him an idea. I don't understand why he got so electrified about it.” Lulu was eager to help and told Sonny how to simplify the mechanism. She realized what was simple to her was not for humans. Now she was stuck and waited for an opportunity to get out of it.

  “You look concern. Relax,” JP said as he noticed her discomfort looking at the other two.

  “I’m worried Mr. Camber might find me unqualified,” Lulu reasoned, fretful of the attention she might get from what she suggested to Sonny. She made a mistake and resolved never to give suggestions without giving it a second thought.

  “Don't be, and call him Greg. Only the formalities are missing. As far as the job is concerned, you will be responsible for . . .”

  Give a Raise

  Minutes later, Greg went over to JP and Lulu.

  JP introduced Lulu.

  Greg said to Lulu, “Sonny tells me you can't read blueprints.”

  “Know nothing about it,” Lulu replied as Greg walked her over to the engineering drawing table where the spread blueprint laid.

  When they got to the table, Greg said to Lulu, “It's really very simple.” He got a pencil and started to point on the blueprint spread out on top of it. “This is the shoulder, elbow, and wrist, and these are their linkages. These are the gears, and here, the pulleys. You showed Sonny an innovative approach to a mechanical link design but Sonny must have missed how you linked the shoulder straight down to the tip of the fingers to perform a synchronized motion. Can you show it to me?” Greg said as he gave her the pencil.

  Lulu, with the pencil, nervously traced things on the mechanical arm then on the blueprint. ‘I must get myself out of this spot,’ she thought as she explained.

  Sonny followed closely her explanation to Greg. He knew it made sense when she pointed it on Gilda's arm at the shop but got lost when she traced it on the blueprint to Greg.

  Greg studied Lulu's idea then concluded, “It won't work. The links will get in each other’s way right there,” pointing it on the blueprint.

  Lulu was relieved.

  Sonny looked at the mangled arm then the blueprint. “Wrong,” Sonny butted. “That not how ‘Wonder Woman’ explain me. She misread print. Look, this here, this take out and replace with synchronous gear, and . . .” he stopped and took the arm and started recalling how she pointed it out at the shop. “Yes, ‘Wonder Woman’ make mistake here,” pointing it out at the blueprint. “Forget one vital link.” With a pencil, Sonny drew the missing link on the blueprint and marked off others then said to Greg, “Now what you think?”

  Greg studied it again and intensely. A couple of minutes later, he said, “JP, give ‘Wonder Woman’ a raise. We will revolutionize the industry. Did you hire her for me?”

  “No, for me,” Sonny asserted.

  “I found her. She's mine,” JP responded possessively then felt odd, he was fighting for their privacy since she came to work!

  Lulu acted innocently, “I don't understand what the excitement is all about.”

  Greg explained, “Engineers have been pouring over a simplified robotic shoulder, arm, hand, and fingers configuration for years. It's a puzzle, like a Rubic’s cube. Everyone was trying to find the right combination to a complex sequence of motions and you simplified it to Sonny.”

  “How does it affect my program?” JP asked.

  Greg gave it a thought, “If it works, and I think it will, you may have 30% less motors, 60% less drive shafts, and pulley all replaced by synchronous gears.”

  “You're kidding!” JP said in amazement.

  “There is a good reason to celebrate, I’m treating everyone to lunch,” Greg said.

  Sonny quipped, “Does ‘everyone’ include me?”

  “Most specially you,” Greg assured Sonny candidly.

  “Good,” Sonny responded. “I give my lunch box to Sylvia and let her choke on my wife’s cooking,”

  “I give up,” JP said. “Lulu, you will be our guest.”

  O
N TO GILDA

  Greg, JP, and Sonny were terribly busy in the two months that passed. JP, who had never brought a lunch box to work, brought his daily. But having lunch with Lulu, even with minimal privacy, was impossible. People at work milled around her and he ended eating with others at the lunchroom that became a routine. The rest of the time, he worked alone through the night on Gilda’s computer program.

  Lulu adapted well to her new environment. She was an epitome of an exceptionally good worker. Greg and JP thought they overworked Beth, who constantly and openly bickered about it. Yet, Lulu handled all of Beth’s work and did it better in less time. She automated most of the paper work using basic office computer programs and redone Beth’s office filing systems much to Greg and JP’s liking. She became an authority on employee benefits that all questions pertaining to it ended with her rather than Greg or JP doing the research. Though JP and Greg knew she was doing much more work than Beth, they noticed she was not overworked at all! She had time for herself and did other things. She just knew what to do and did it efficiently!

  One day, Greg said to JP, “Do something Partner before someone beats you to Lulu.”

  “That’s why I’m doing as much as I can to get Gilda out of the way. You think Lulu is the type of girl for me?”

  “You two were made for each other.”

  “She’s not your type, right?” JP said uncomfortably.

  Greg looked at JP and grinned. “JP, you’re my best friend,” he said, assuring. “If ever I did anything, it will be to help you. So, don’t worry. I’m on your side. Think everyone in the company is.”

  “Glad you said that. Can’t do anything about it now with . . .”

  “I understand. Just do what you have been doing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Bring your lunch box,” he joked then grinned.

  The Company Problem

  “Be with you in a second,” JP said when Greg entered his office. He was keying program instructions on the computer.

  “Take your time,” Greg replied as he lifted a stock of computer printouts from the only chair he could use. He placed them on the floor and sat on the chair.

  “What’s up?” JP said as he turned his swivel chair to face Greg.

  “Where are we on New Gilda’s program?”

  “Haven’t touched it.”

  “That’s where our future lies.”

  “I know but Horsch project is up next week and you incorporated new designs to old Gilda that requires additional programs.”

  “Didn’t know it would take that long.”

  “Greg, Gilda can drop anything anywhere along the act. Got any idea how many places can go wrong? Got to plug all.”

  “My fault. We focus on New Gilda.”

  “Dropped Horsch’s project?”

  “I see your point. No,” Greg said and thought about it for a moment. “Let me make a call,” he finally said and left the office hurriedly. When he came back, announced, “Good news. We’re hitting two birds with one stone,” then took a seat.

  “How did you do it?” JP curiously asked.

  “Told Horsch we came up with a better design that would make the old one obsolete.”

  “Identical specs?”

  “Identical.”

  “Wouldn’t the Government have exclusive rights to our work if we get the project?”

  “On the day they put a cent on it, they will. Else, it’s an open market. Winning the bid per se is not what we are after. It’s the prestige of being the leader in the robotics industry. That’s the ticket to our success.”

  “Sonny told me we have to farm out the mechanical parts fabrication.”

  “That’s the reason I came to see you. We don’t have the capability to make Gilda’s mechanism in-house. Most of Gilda’s linkages are geared ball joints not hinges. We need special machines, special alloys, custom-built multiple electronic sensors to get it done. We need money plowed in the company.”

  “How much are we looking at?”

  “Half a million, minimum. The market is wide open to simplified automation. Billions are at stake.”

  “I’m willing to gamble.”

  “It’s no gamble. It’s ours with what we got, thanks to Lulu. I still wonder how she came up with the idea.”

  “A lucky guess?” JP commented.

  “Guessing the outcome of a tossed coin once is luck; twice in a row is very lucky; six consecutive times is something else. Anyway, back to what I came here . . . we need money to get Gilda done. We’ve maxed out our bank limit, so we have two options: put up the money or, I hate to say it, get investors in.”

  “I somehow expected this to happen so I had all my property assessed. I can come up with four-hundred-thousand, mortgaging everything.”

  “Scraping the barrel, I can handle fifty grand. You will be the majority holder of the company.”

  “I see it as half.”

  “Check your math.”

  “Greg, I owe you a lot. You got me in the business knowing little of it. We had a great time when times were good. ‘Sink or swim together’ is our motto or have you forgotten.”

  “And if we fail?”

  “Then both of us will be penniless. You’d do the same thing if it turned the other way around.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Remember the day you proposed to share our success with our employees through bonuses? The thing that stuck in my head was what you said on my suggestion---saving for a rainy day. You said, ‘And miss out on the opportunity to make our employees happy, no way. If a problem does come around, that will be another problem.’ I never forgot you said that.”

  “No regrets on not saving then?”

  “Half of that decision was mine. I’d do it again”, JP answered.

  “Knowing where we stand and how much we got, let us plan our future.”

  “I’ll leave everything to you. This is a family corporation and you’re the brother I never had.”

  “You think I deserve that?” Greg asked as he looked at JP.

  “You do. So, let’s hug on it, Brother.” JP stood, walked around his desk, and hugged Greg as he patted his back.

  Greg hesitated then patted back. “You’re a good guy, JP. Wish the world had more of you,” he said as they parted.

  “Well, there are two of us now.”

  “Trust everything to me?”

  “No other way.”

  “The economy is still bad. We got to operate lean ‘til we get Gilda going then our financial woes will be over.”

  “Got you, Brother.”

  The Sale of Cleopatra’s Coin

  Late Saturday afternoon, six months after, JP was working on Gilda’s program at home. Taking a breather, he walked to his mailbox at the main entry of the condominium and got his mail. He sorted out the junks and ended with an envelope from a reputable auction house and opened it. His eyes widened and missed a breath on seeing a check for $416,554.42 in Lulu’s name. It was the proceeds to the sale of the coin. In his excitement, he forgot his work, drove to Juaning’s house but found no one home. On a hunch, he proceeded to the church and got there just in time to see them leave the church’s main entry after the late Saturday afternoon mass.

  JP ran to meet them. “Da-da-da,” in a musical tone he heralded as he handed the check to Lulu and kissed Juaning on her cheek as he normally greeted her.

  Lulu gave the check a quick look but was not surprised at the amount. “This came at the right time. How did you make the arrangements?” she eagerly asked JP.

  “A very good old family friend did,” JP answered then addressed Juaning, “Remember our neighbor, Ted Greer?”

  “Oh yes, a dear and sweet old man. He was our neighbor in New Jersey. He started JP on his coin collection as a small boy. He must be over eighty by now. Why?”

  “He sold Lulu's old coin for over $400,000!”

  “Lulu got four-hundred-thousand! Oh, I'm so happy for you,” Juaning said to Lulu, thrilled, jumping,
and clapping her hands with joy. Then, she realized something. Her facial expression suddenly changed from excitement to alarm and said, “Now, she will get herself her own house. I wished you'd stay with me,” she pleaded, almost crying. “Stay with me Lulu rent free . . . even food . . . I'll even pay you. Just stay with me.”

  JP noticed Juaning's mood, tone of voice, and how she spoke had changed drastically. She sounded serious and desperate. It dawned on him how alone and lonely she was before Lulu came. How he neglected her. More so, when he recalled what Lulu said, ‘It’s the little good thing you do that makes the difference’.

  “I’ll never do that,” Lulu said to Juaning. “You're my Mom and the thought of leaving you is out of the question. I hope you don't mind my calling you Mom. I really love to be your daughter.”

  “Oh, really, Lulu . . . really?” Juaning's eyes sparkled with joy. She turned to JP excitedly, “I have a daughter at last,” she cheered then turned to Lulu and said, “You won't leave me then . . . really?”

  Lulu embraced her fondly with one arm. “Not for anything in this world. I have other plans for the money.” She turned her head and saw Father Leonard walking away. “Father,” she called out.

  Fr. Leonard walked towards them but stopped when a parishioner approached him. With his hand, he gestured, he would be with her.

  Lulu turned to JP and said, “I’ll give Mr. Greer 10% as commission. As we agreed on, you’ll get 10% plus eight thousand and the compounded interest on it . . .”

  “I’ll be happy if you just gave me back my eight grand,” JP interrupted.

  “What are you talking about?” Juaning curiously asked.

  Lulu replied, “JP invested eight grand on the coin. I’ll give you, Mom, $30,000 and Mr. Greer 10% commission.”

  “And JP’s share?” Juaning asked.

  “$51,244.11”

  Juaning said with a surprised question, “You computed all that in your head?”

  Lulu evaded the question and glad Fr. Leonard, an old, gray haired priest, approached them and said, “Good afternoon, Father.”

  “Good afternoon,” Fr. Leonard greeted back. “How’s everyone?” Lulu and Juaning were his regular daily parishioners.

  After the short pleasantries, Lulu shifted the subject. “Father, since I heard of your charitable project for the underprivileged, I always dreamed of giving something. I have a check which I will endorse to your project after deducting my Mom’s share . . .”

  “I did not know Juaning is your mother?” Fr. Leonard said unexpectedly.

  Juaning proudly replied, “She's my daughter.”

  “I'm sorry for the interruption,” Fr. Leonard apologized to Lulu. “Please continue.”

  Lulu smiled then, rounding the numbers, continued, “As I said, your charity gets after deducting $30,000 for my Mom; 10% on seller’s commission; JP’s 10% profit share plus interest on his investment; and the balance of $38,000 for me,” then handed the check over to Fr. Leonard.

  Fr. Leonard took the check and stared at it. He was lost. Large sums were given out and was unsure what his charity will get after. “Of this, the charity gets . . .?”

  “$300,000,” Lulu replied.

  “This is a miracle,” Father Leonard exclaimed. “You just don't know how I prayed for this. This will go a long way. I see no problem in transferring the amounts.” Wide-eyed, he looked at the check again.

  “Oh, Father,” Juaning said, “my nephew, JP, wishes to donate his share.” She turned to JP and said, “How generous of you, JP,” giving him a sarcastic smile not seen by the rest.

  Extremely ecstatic, Fr. Leonard immediately turned to JP, “Thank you for your generosity, my son. And how much would that be?”

  “Over $50,000. My daughter has the exact figure,” Juaning answered beaming with pride.

  “Oh, thank you so very much, my son,” Fr. Leonard said, and got JP’s hand and shook it.

  Shocked and speechless, JP managed to smile as Fr. Leonard shook his hand that felt merely dangled from his arm.

  Happily, Lulu said, “How generous of you, JP. Your reward will surely come from heaven,” and left with Father Leonard.

  When Lulu and Fr. Leonard was out of hearing distance, Juaning teased, “Yes, JP, your reward will surely come from heaven,” Juaning followed up and kissed him on the cheek.

  “A Judas' kiss,” said JP. “Why did you give my money? $8,000 of that came from my pocket!”

  “I remember you saying you’ll be happy if you got back your $8,000. I will give you $8,000 from my check. That should make you happy.”

  “How can you?” JP protested. “I will tell Father you are donating your share too.”

  “Don't you dare, don't you dare. You stay with me,” she said, holding his arm tight and poised to restrain any movement.

  “Why did you give my share?”

  In a rhythm and like a little girl teasing, Juaning improvised a song, “’A miser . . . a penny saver . . . a scrooge,’ and those other nasty words you described that sweet girl. Good for you! You deserve it.”

  “I remember using only one word---frugal,” he defended.

  “That means the same thing,” she snapped. All of sudden she had a worried look. “You think she really meant that I was going to be her Mom? Really, JP? To be her Mom and live with me?” and anxiously waited for JP's answer.

  “I’m certain she does.”

  “Don't waste time, JP. Marry her before she enters the monastery and become a nun.”

  “Don't worry. I'm waiting for the right time.”

  “You told me that five years ago. How is she at work?”

  “I have never met anyone establish rapport with so many in such a short time. Everyone in the office thinks she's an angel. Greg, who considers most women as walking bimbos, thinks highly of her. Coming from Greg, that's a great compliment.”

  “JP,” Juaning said in a serious tone and deliberate voice, “Marry her before she becomes a saint.”

  FARMING OUT PROGRAMMING

  Months have passed. Lulu, with Sylvia’s group, were having lunch at the company’s lunchroom. During their casual conversation, Alice asked a question most employees were hesitant to ask, “More layoffs coming, Lulu?”

  “Not that I know. I am praying we will rehire them soon,” Lulu answered.

  “That’s unlikely,” Sylvia said.

  “JP slept at his office again last night,” Marijack interjected.

  “How would you know?” Sylvs asked.

  “The janitor told me. That’s the seventh time since we laid-off people two months ago.”

  “Poor JP,” Alice said, “he’s taking it hard. Sonny said he’s doing the work of two programmers and doubts meeting Gilda’s deadline.”

  “He is working too hard,” Lulu said worriedly.

  Marijack noticed Lulu’s look of concern asked, “You like him, don’t you, Lulu?”

  Getting hold of herself, Lulu said, apprehensively, “I am worried he might get sick.”

  “That was not the answer to my question but partly answers it. Do you like him?” Marijack repeated.

  Lulu hesitated.

  “Do you love JP?” Sylvia intervened. “Don’t be shy. You are a part of our family.”

  “How can you tell if like is love?” Lulu innocently asked.

  “Are there no boys where you came from?” Marijack asked and added, “That’s a surprise. They said Alaskan men are now marrying female polar bears for lack of women.”

  Everyone laughed except Lulu. She apparently did not get the humor.

  Sylvia said addressing her girls, “Stop clowning. We are talking serious matters here. Well, Lulu . . . are there men out there?”

  There was a moment of silence as they waited for Lulu’s reply with anticipation.

  “Guess I wasn’t paying attention. We were isolated where we lived. But it wouldn’t matter if the other person doesn’t like you.”

  “Use the word love,” Sylvs butted.

  Marija
ck commented, “You are so naïve on that matter as if you came from another planet . . . like an Alien.”

  Lulu reacted with surprise, “An Alien? A Martian?”

  “Can’t you see the signs?” Marijack asked.

  “Signs? . . . Aren’t they supposed to give flowers?” Lulu innocently replied.

  “She’s a Martian,” Sylvia concluded. “You’ve seen too many old, really old, movies. Forget the flowers. The bottom line is he loves you. Give the man a break. He’s been working his ass off since they got a new mechanical design for Gilda and he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for all of us. It’s the wrong time for him to think of love. He’s got big, really big problems everywhere; the layoffs; the programs; the company . . .”

  “Sacrificing himself for us,” Lulu added sadly and this time took her handkerchief and wiped her moist eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Lulu. No man is worth crying over,” Sylvs said but got stern looks from the rest.

  Alice immediately defended, “JP is an exception. He is worth every tear.”

  Sylvia, like the rest, noticed how innocent Lulu was. She went around the table, and sat on the chair beside her and got Lulu too look at her, “Don’t you worry our little-big girl,” she said in a motherly fashion, “Everything will work out fine. We have a plan.”

  “Plan? What plan?” Lulu said as she composed herself.

  “We don’t know yet but we’ll think of something. You just stay cool and everything will work out.”

  Marijack, who had a clear view of the hallway from where she sat, said, “He’s coming.”

  Sylvia immediately reacted and said aloud, “Plan A, boys and girls.”

  Except for Lulu, who was baffled, everyone grabbed their unfinished food and stuff and left the lunch room in a rush. So, did the people at the other table---they understood what Sylvia meant.

  JP sidestepped at the doorway as the women hurriedly left the room smiling girlishly at him as they passed. The two men in the room gave him a thumb’s up as they left. Sylvia, the last, winked. Puzzled, JP asked Lulu as he entered the room, “Why the rush?” he asked questioningly.

  “Plan A?” Lulu replied naively.

  “Plan A?” he repeated in a question.

  “That’s what Sylvia said and they rushed out.”

  “Oh yes. Plan A,” JP answered hiding his laughter through a grin.

  “Where’s your lunch box?”

  “Forgot. Sonny is buying sandwich for me.”

  “You can have my extra chicken sandwich.”

  “A tempting offer I can’t refuse.”

  As Lulu took the sandwich out of her lunch box, she asked, “How’s the programming going?”

  “Smoothly,” he answered as he got the sandwich.

  Lulu looked at him. She could tell he had not been sleeping well. His eyes were surrounded by a dark shade. “You being honest?”

  “A little problem.”

  “Are you being honest?” she repeated.

  “Can’t you get by with a white lie?”

  “Still, it’s lying.”

  “A little lie paved with good intentions.”

  Lulu noted what he said. “I’ll accept that. So?”

  “Confidentially?”

  “Won’t breathe a word.”

  “Talked with Greg this morning. We agreed to lay off another four in anticipation of hiring one programmer to help. Three from Sylvia and one from Sonny.”

  “That’s the third time in three months.”

  “Unavoidable if the company is to survive. We need a programmer badly.”

  “Is there a way I can help?”

  “Wish you could. We’re talking big time programming. Programmers experienced in robotic programs are hard to find and expensive.”

  “I thought it was a simple modification on Gilda’s program?”

  “I realized I’m forcing a round peg in a square hole.”

  “Why?”

  “Gilda is a new mechanism . . .” JP explained.

  Though Lulu looked attentive, she was not paying attention. She was searching for a believable plan to solve JP’s problem without implicating herself and cost nothing.

  Meanwhile, at the parking lot, Sonny drove in and left his car, holding JP’s lunch in a paper bag. Surprised to see the women having lunch at the parking lot, he inquired, “What’s up, Muchachas?”

  “Plan A. They’re at the lunchroom, so don’t disturb,” Alice replied.

  “Caramba! Now I have to call the lawyer.”

  “Lawyer?” Marijack was puzzled.

  Sonny answered, “Stop him from giving the divorce papers to my wife,” and went in leaving Marijack and the rest laughing.

  Sonny went in the breakroom, placed the lunch bag on the table, turned, and left long enough to hear JP say ‘Thanks, Sonny.’

  Dumbfounded by Sonny’s act, Lulu commented, “People are acting weird lately.”

  JP merely smiled. “As I was saying, if there are two links, that would mean four possible combinations to consider. The new Gilda has six links from shoulder to the tip of its finger. That’s six to the sixth power. A possible combination of . . .”

  “46,656,” Lulu snapped instinctively.

  “Solve that in your head?”

  “Saw the number in a puzzle by coincidence.”

  JP eyed her suspiciously then continued, “Well, it’s a long and tedious job sorting out the best combinations, too long for one man.”

  “I think I know of a man who may be able to help. He used to work for a Japanese robotic firm as a programmer while he was in Japan.”

  “That’s the kind of man I need. How can I reach him?”

  “It’s not that easy. He has isolated himself from the world.”

  “How can I contact him then?”

  “Through me.”

  JP looked at her.

  Lulu reacted, “Two years ago, he suffered a nervous breakdown for the second time. A breakdown caused by pressure to meet a deadline. He said, Japanese are rather unforgiving if you missed your target.”

  “I can understand his situation. It’s not uncommon for people working in this field to border sane and insanity in a short period working under time pressure. Having Japanese bosses magnifies it ten-folds.”

  “Glad you understand,” Lulu said with relief. “After the breakdown, he became recluse and bought himself a lodge two miles from where my parents and I live in Alaska. In remote areas, you can say we are neighbors. As far as I know, we’re his only friends there. We often bring food, groceries, and vice versa, and became my father’s hunting buddy. Somewhere along the way, he made it clear to us his situation and wants minimal human contact outside from us. To give you an idea how good he is, his kitchen is automated. A long table with multiple mechanical arms does his cooking, making coffee to washing dishes.”

  “So, that’s how you came up with Gilda’s mechanical design.”

  “You can say that.”

  As though kept in the dark for a time and see a glint of light, he asked with anticipation, “You think he’ll be interested?”

  “I’ll call him.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “JP, please understand . . . I am breaking a sacred trust. I’m having a hard time knowing this but will do it for you. Your only contact with him is through me. To safeguard his identity, I’d go out of my way to use a payphone. Nothing personal.”

  “Okay. Nothing personal, got you.”

  “Do you have the requirements for him to consider?”

  “All I need is a willing programmer. I have everything.”

  She noticed how JP reacted and said, “That desperate?”

  “Greg and I are doing everything to save the company.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me intruding but you’re working too hard. Got to think of your health lest you end up like my anonymous friend.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that . . . a breakdown . . . but I strongly feel I am at the major crossroa
d in my life . . .” he paused. “A lot depends on this project. Many people’s lives are anchored on it . . . yours and mine too. This project will make or break me, Lulu,” he confessed. “I feel it’s my last chance to making it . . . got to give it my best . . . give that extra push squeezed in the next four months. Just four months and it will be over. Make or break. Obviously, I can’t make it without help. I desperately need another programmer for two . . . three months, tops.”

  “I understand but you got to have a breather somewhere lest you suffocate. Juaning has been concerned about you lately . . . coming over for dinner won’t hurt.”

  “That extra push is pinning me to my computer chair. Can you explain it to her?”

  “I’ll give it my best but you know her.”

  “Just give it your best.” Then prodding himself, he said, “It’s not only Auntie Juaning I was thinking of visiting but also you.”

  “The sign,” Lulu said without her knowing and smiled to herself.

  “Sign? What sign?” JP asked.

  “I was thinking of something else,” she hesitated in search for an excuse then, a quick thinker, continued, “Signing in for night school. I’m alone most of the time with Juaning working most of the evenings.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Education is always good. On what?”

  “Computer programming.”

  “You won’t have a problem there. You’re a brilliant woman, Lulu . . . bright, smart, and pleasantly naïve in some things.”

  “I’ve heard that ‘naïve’ word said many times, but I’m learning. Lunchtime is over. Can I have the programming requirements in downloadable form to email to my anonymous friend?”

  “It’s in my office. It may take over two hour for him to assess. If you have to, wait for his reply.”

  “Ok.”

  1:15 P.M.

  Lulu left work and drove directly to Glendale County Library. The library building was modern in design. No curves, all bold straight horizontal and vertical lines accented its surrounding walls artistically. Well placed elm trees on manicured lawn; shrubs, here and there; the greenery all around the building made the library look warm and inviting.

  Inside the library, Lulu stood before four long and tall bookshelves filled with books on computer programming. At first, she took a book from the shelf on basic programming and leafed through its pages from where she stood. A few minutes later, she got a dozen in Advance Computer Programming; carried them over to an empty table; turn on the desk lamp; and started to study.

  The Sleeper

  The Northridge Mall’s forth level parking lot was nearly vacant being a weekday and two-thirty in the afternoon. Greg, dressed as a rapper, had a baseball cap, wore a large rimmed dark glass, a loose black denim jacket with its collar raised, dark hand gloves, and buggy pants. He parked his car alongside a Mercedes Benz with tinted windows. The Benz’s engine was running and no other vehicle was parked nearby. Greg got out of his car; briskly scanned the vicinity then entered the passenger side of the Benz.

  Horsch, an oversized six-foot man, was in an unbuttoned business suit. His fat belly bulged and stretched his white long sleeve shirt with its buttons close to popping. He was not in a good mood. He said forcefully, “This better be good!” as he looked at Greg through his gold rimmed dark glasses.

  “Got to help out,” Greg said. “I need a large order for printers.”

  “This project should be self-financed and you’re supposed to see to it that it does.”

  “Can’t do much with the economy where it’s at. Without printer orders, eight years for nothing. That’s the reason for this meeting.”

  “You have to find another solution.”

  In frustration Greg replied, “Then you might as well drop everything and bring me back to Russia.”

  “That’s not a wise choice,” Horsch stared and coldly said. “We got a lot invested on you and a death sentence awaits you over there . . . if you forgot,” he reminded.

  Greg was caught and convicted for smuggling a hundred-fifty kilo of cocaine and accessory to the death of a drug agent in Moscow. The conviction carried a death sentence. In hindsight, he believed he was framed. He had the profile they needed to act as a sleeper. Reminded repeatedly for failure’s penalty repulsed him. Inside, he felt like beating Horsch. He disliked him from the start but knew he had him by the neck. “That’s not what I meant. Camfer has a month to make good a loan or the bank will close us. You have to help get this project back on its feet.”

  “Does JP know the company’s financial woes?”

  “He knows we have a problem, not how deep.”

  Horsch rhythmically tapped the bottom part of the steering wheel with his fingers. It was but an inch away from his fat belly. After a short paused, he asked, “Any break?”

  “Not since JP agreed on doing business with Rosenthal Industry, no,” Greg said as he reported the letter incident and calls from George Rosenthal’s Executive Secretary he uncovered from Beth on the day she resigned. As a sleeper, he was to provide information only and not ask questions. All he knew of his mission was to befriend JP and always wondered why. Horsch always pressured Greg for ideas to get the relationship going after Greg and JP graduated from graduate school and was commended for getting JP as his business partner. It was only the letter incident that gave him a hint to what his mission was. He gambled, “I need information aside from knowing JP is Rosenthal’s son . . . the sole heir to Rosenthal Global Industries.” Greg was guessing but he had to play the game.

  Horsch looked at Greg, “How would you know?” He was laconic.

  “You wouldn’t have gotten me if I wasn’t smart.”

  Horsch coldly looked at Greg. He sized things up then said, “Your source?”

  “Indirectly, the calls from Rosenthal’s executive secretary.” He knew his calculated guess was right. Horsch may be holding on to his neck but he has him by the balls, he thought.

  Horsch tapped the steering wheel with his fingers again as he reconsidered the situation.

  Greg said, taking advantage of the situation, “I need JP’s history to be effective.”

  There was a moment of silence then Horsch finally said, “Mother, a Filipina who once worked as a surgical nurse. She committed suicide when JP was seven years old. Legally there is no document to prove George Rosenthal was married to JP’s mother or JP being his son. Years earlier, we searched for ways to get spies within the US defense industry. George Rosenthal was a fast-rising figure in the US armament program and his companies were good targets to infiltrate. Since Rosenthal is a diehard American and despises Soviet ideology, we looked for kinks on his armor, something we can use on him. Following his money trail, we found a substantial sum went to support a Remedios Fernandez, JP’s mother. Two months in surveillance, we uncovered a former co-employee at the hospital, a clerk at the birth registry section, was blackmailing the mother. She paid him to thrash the original birth certificate George Rosenthal signed as father to read: father ‘unknown’ and used her family name Fernandez as JP’s last name. The guy held on to the original birth certificate and used it to blackmail her. He was terminated.”

  “Rosenthal had him killed?”

  “That would have been ideal. He knows nothing of the blackmail.”

  “JP’s mother then?”

  “By me. He was jeopardizing my plans,” Horsch coldly said.

  “And the birth certificate?”

  “I have it.”

  There was a pause then Greg said, “Can we use the certificate to get a hold on Rosenthal?”

  “Blackmail Rosenthal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our profilers are certain Rosenthal will openly declare JP as his legitimate son, dead end.”

  “How about JP’s aunt, Juanita Jones?”

  “Except for being Remedios’ younger sister, nothing on her. Katherine Davis, Rosenthal’s executive secretary, knows. She was the bridge between JP’s mother and Rosenthal but that stopped when the mothe
r died. Rosenthal is still trying to contact JP, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s our break. Something will ultimately happen. You stick with JP. He’s our only link.”

  Greg saw his opportunity, “For the more reason you have to support this project. Rosenthal Global Industries has a Robotic Division with a temporary Division Head. Rosenthal does not leave a division headless unless . . .”

  “Unless Rosenthal is using the division to lure JP in. JP hates his father . . . that is a given and you exploit that.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “JP must open the subject and most likely won’t. If I open it, even discreetly, that will break my cover.”

  “Never break your cover,” Horsch said forcefully. “Let him open the subject. Just play the game and you’d end up becoming one of Rosenthal Global Industries top executive. Stick to the plan.”

  “Okay.”

  “How many are we looking at . . . printers?”

  Greg gave it a serious thought then said, “Two years’ worth of printers . . . 150,000 units altogether plus an approved bank credit line of five million to solve all company debt problems and finance Gilda.” The ordered printers and the credit line were way over what they needed. Greg was now bribing him.

  “Gilda…you mean the robot.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are we on it?”

  “No change from last report,” Greg lied. Gilda’s new mechanical design came two days after he reported. He did not know why or where it would lead but knew he could use it in his favor in the future. “We are using scraps to run her and need something better to get a shot at the military robotic contract. I justified this project.”

  “I know,” Horsch admitted. “I like the idea of letting the US government finance Russian projects in the robotic field. Anything else?”

  “None.”

  “That’s a lot of printers to justify.”

  “Kremlin can use more,” Greg snapped, feeling he was now in control.

  Horsch eyed Greg intensely. “Five million is too high. Lower it.”

  “Billions are at stake and I want to focus on the mission not solve financial problems. Like you, I want nothing to jeopardize the project. Nothing! That’s the deal,”

  Horsch started to tap the wheel again, a bit longer this time. He looked at Greg then said, “You will hear from me soon.”

  “I forgot to mention, have a million dollars in my Swiss account.”

  “Don’t press your luck, Greg.”

  “I am. What do you plan on doing?

  Horsch pulled a 9mm hand gun with a silencer from the left side of his seat and pointed it at Greg’s face.

  Greg was not intimidated. “You’re being foolish.”

  Horsch stared at him for a moment. “Okay, wise guy. I’ll work something out,” as he holstered the gun.

  “I expect to see a million in my Swiss account next week.” He opened the car door and left.

  At the far end of the parking lot, an FBI agent activated his hidden speakerphone. “Contact leaving parking lot in Pearl-blue Toyota Camry wagon. Got no clear picture of his face,” he reported.

  Greg expertly drove and left the car he stole on the next parking level; rush to the stairwell and raced two levels down as he threw his outer garments on the steps. He reentered the mall well-dressed in a business suit, and unnoticed.

  The Good News

  The clock on the library wall read 4 p.m. and the table Lulu used had a good stock of books on it. The library part-time worker who returned books to its shelf worked hard that afternoon. However, she smiled on seeing a ten-dollar bill with a note of thanks at the bottom of the piled books.

  Lulu went directly to JP’s office from the library. She knocked then went in.

  Before Lulu could speak, JP said, “Make my day, Lulu . . . tell me he’ll take the offer . . . please,” he implored.

  Lulu did not answer but smiled.

  “Is that a ‘Yes’?” he looked at her eagerly.

  Lulu, beaming, nodded.

  “Yes!” JP stressed loudly raising both hands in the air as though he won the State Lottery. “Got something for you to make you happy in return . . . hire everyone back. We will be hiring more once Greg and I sit on it.”

  With hands on her cheeks, Lulu exclaimed, “Really?!” Tears fell from her eyes.

  JP handed a tissue box and asked her to sit. He pulled his swivel chair and sat across. “You alright, Lulu?”

  “It’s tears of joy,” she explained. She gained her composure as she dubbed her eyes with a tissue and said, “What happened?”

  “Greg got a big order. We can set aside all our financial problems and focus on Gilda. How much is your anonymous friend asking?”

  “Nothing,” she hastily replied.

  “Nothing?” JP responded unbelievingly and eyed her questioningly.

  A mistake, Lulu thought, then thinking fast said, “Nothing for now. I told him of the company’s financial woes and he said payment deferred till the company is financially able.”

  JP can’t believe what he heard, “Is that for real? A stranger doing this for a company he does not even know?”

  “Not for the company but for me, for my family, for everything my father, mother, and I did for him. He said he is thankful it came as he was running out of programming ideas to keep him busy and that the project came as though I did him a big favor . . . He liked your programming approach and thinks you’re brilliant. He is willing to collaborate if you will accept these working arrangements,” she said as she handed him a paper.

  JP went over the proposal and, reading halfway, commented, “He dictated this to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s an expert,” he added as he continued to read.

  Lulu watched JP read and was apprehensive her alibi being unbelievable.

  “How much is he asking?” he said as he left the paper on his desk and placed a paperweight over it and looked at Lulu.

  “He said premium and you know what that means. He will just have to trust you to keep your side of the bargain. Will I vouch for you, JP?”

  “You can bet your life. I will make it worthwhile; first option to buy company stocks if we go public, and assured employment here if ever he needs a job. We surely need a person of his caliber. He has to reveal his identity . . . how will he get paid?”

  “He said to give it to a charity of my choice.”

  “A very generous man. Okay. You can tell him the work arrangement is acceptable and thank him for the payment manner. I find no problem working on trust basis. Tell him, I understand his situation and I want to be his friend.”

  Relieved, Lulu replied, “I will.”

  Uneasy and having a hard time to express himself, JP said, “He’s helping me will not change how busy I will be. It merely lightens the load. Much as I’d like to visit you . . . and Auntie Juaning, I . . .”

  “You need not explain. I understand and pray Juaning would.” Shifting the subject, she said, “Northridge Technical Institute is accepting enrollment for nighttime short-term courses on programming. Any suggestion?”

  “Pascal and Visual Basic.”

  THE HURT

  Everything went smoothly in the months that followed. The company rehired the laid-off workers and added more; the bank loans were restructured; Gilda’s intricate metal components were farmed out for fabrication; Sonny got his dream machines, the latest milling and lathe machines; JP was just as busy but went home to sleep; and no one suspected Lulu was working on Gilda’s computer program at a rented apartment when she should have been in night school.

  Greg realized he had gotten too cocky with Horsch. Horsch was no fool and gave him what was needed to finance the Gilda project, slashed the printer orders enough to keep the company afloat, and transferred only two hundred thousand Euros to Greg’s Swiss account.

  Three months have passed. It was a Sunday.

  JP never kept his
promise to visit Auntie Juaning on weekends. He was so focused on his computer programs to stop, more so, on weekend’s when he was at his best, at home and uninterrupted. He once set the alarm clock at eleven in the morning on a Sunday with a plan to have lunch with Auntie Juaning and Lulu. It rang; he shut it off; and continued working, relying on Lulu to explain to Juaning. It was different now. Lulu’s ‘Anonymous Friend’, had completed his part of the program and the company donated $120,000 to Fr. Leonard’s charity program. JP never suspected that Lulu was the ‘Anonymous Friend.’ Together, they have gone through the hardest part of the computer program and JP was now merely putting the finishing touches. He had ample time to finish the computer program’s deadline. Since it was quarter-to-twelve in the morning, he rushed to his car and drove knowing he would catch Lulu and Juaning having lunch.

  It was five minutes past noon when JP parked his car at the far end of Juaning’s driveway to avoid notice. He intended to surprise them. He sneaked stealthily to the back door and peered through the window. As he predicted, the two were seated at the kitchen table about to take their lunch. He walked in his normal fashion. “Hi everyone.”

  “What a surprise,” Lulu responded with delight and stood to prepare another plate.

  JP headed for Juaning and kissed her on the cheek.

  Juaning did not react and unceremoniously wiped her cheek where JP kissed. “Sit down, JP,” Juaning said coldly. “It's time we talk.”

  Lulu noticed Juaning's demeanor changed. They were having a cheerful conversation until JP came. She hurriedly placed the hot soup on JP's plate and said, “I forgot something upstairs. Be back in a second.”

  “No,” Juaning said sternly as matriarch of the house. “You are part of this family. Sit down,” she commanded.

  Lulu uncomfortably went back to her chair.

  JP obediently sat. Never had he seen his Aunt so mad.

  “You promised Sunday, lunch or dinner. Just an hour, once a week and you never kept it,” Juaning said as calmly as she could.

  “I was so busy with . . .”

  “Forget your explanation. Lulu did that for you as best as she could,” Juaning interrupted in subdued anger. There was a pause. “You cannot explain away neglect or take others for granted. I know you love me, JP,” she said, softening her tone. “I know you do not mean to hurt. That, I know. But you are. You must understand neglect tears peoples' heart and taking that for granted starves it to death . . . It is a slow torture until one cannot stand it anymore.”

  JP saw tears flowing from Juaning's eyes. He had never seen her cry before even at his mother's deathbed and funeral, and she was terribly close to her. He watched her stand, walk to the kitchen sink, take a paper towel, and wipe her eyes and cheeks.

  JP felt the hurt he caused Juaning. Felt his neglect. He went by her side and with one hand over her shoulder said, “I am so sorry to have hurt you. There's something in me that drives me to work. I become so involved in those moments that the world around me seems not to exist. I love you, Auntie. I promise this time I . . .”

  “Make no promises,” Juaning interrupted calmly and loud enough for only JP to hear, “Just come.” After a brief reflection, she said, “Now I understand how both your parents felt. Part of your mother is in me while part of your father is in you. Start caring for people, JP. Put them above anything else in this world.” She held JP's hand on her shoulder then patted it. “I'm fine now. Let's have lunch before it gets cold.”

  The two went back to the table and joined Lulu.

  “You finished the program you’re working on?” Juaning asked in a controlled normal voice as she sat.

  “I'm putting the final touches . . . nothing complicated. I'd have everything wrapped up easy in three days. Eight days ahead of deadline,” JP answered as he sat and continued, “Why don't we all go see a movie after lunch, on me?” JP suggested. “You like that, Auntie?” he asked her.

  “I'll just sleep. You and Lulu can go. Notice anything different?” Juaning anxiously asked, going over the hurt she felt earlier.

  Seated, JP looked around and noted the changes made. “I did notice the change when I came in. The room is completely different. Just amazing!”

  “A lot of things are different in this house . . . including myself,” Juaning said cheerfully. “When was the last time you were here?”

  JP started to think and was not sure. “I bet Lulu remembers,” he said looking at her.

  “Three months, two weeks, five days, and almost eleven hours,” Lulu snapped.

  After lunch, they showed JP the remodeled house. He was astounded! Its simplicity made it elegant. New furniture, well-placed potted plants, framed pictures on newly painted walls made the room lively and spacious. As they went from room to room, it reminded him of the pictures he had seen in Architectural Digest. “You must have spent a fortune on your interior decorator and threw out and bought a lot of things.”

  “We did it, Lulu, and me,” Juaning proudly said with glimmer in her eyes. “Lulu did all the designing. Most of the furnishing came from thrift shops and yard sales. We did the refurbishing. But don't tell anyone where we got the things.”

  “You really like it, JP?” Lulu humbly asked.

  “I'm simply amazed. The rooms are all so different. It's just great! You think you can do my townhouse?”

  “Not unless you pay for our services,” Juaning interjected.

  JP asked candidly, “And, how much would that be?”

  “$8,000 plus your labor.”

  “That's how much you owe me.”

  “Consider that the advance.”

  Lulu looked at Juaning intimidatingly.

  “Okay, you don't have to pay. But Lulu, that's not the way to conduct business.”

  Lulu smiled. “When can we work on your unit?” he asked JP.

  “Looking forward to it right after the project is done. I like it to look similar to this . . . simple and spacious,” he said as he looked around. “You really did all of these?” he said, astounded.

  Lulu showed JP her calloused hands.

  “We did it,” Juaning said and showed her blisters as well.

  “Aren't you concerned about your hands?” JP asked both.

  Lulu questioned, “Being tough and blistered? Should I worry about it?”

  “You shouldn't,” Juaning answered then turned to JP. “Lulu has a higher standard than just being vain. If a man does not see that, the man is a fool.”

  “Are you a fool, JP?” Lulu asked.

  “Not anymore.”

  “I hope you learned a lesson,” Juaning said in admonition. “Don't mess around with my Lulu. She knows more than you think. Now, I want you to see the greenhouse.”

  There were good reasons for Juaning to be proud of her greenhouse. It was a paradise of flowering orchids. Healthy plants with big vibrantly colored flowers and healthy dark green leaves all around. “Aren't the flowers beautiful?” Juaning asked JP beaming with pride.

  “It sure is. What was here were sick and closed to dying plants and now . . . Lulu again?” JP commented.

  Juaning answered happily, “Yes, with homemade fertilizers and insecticides.”

  They walked him around the greenhouse and later Juaning said, “You two can go and have fun . . . see a movie. I'll stay here and tend to my beautiful plants.”

  “Like to see a movie, Lulu?” JP asked.

  “I'd like that very much.”

  The Truth

  Juaning waved goodbye at the two as JP’s car drove off from the backyard driveway. She sat on the swing under the oak tree and recalled the incident with JP. JP, on many occasions, did not see nor call her for months, and they lived but a few miles from each other. Three times in the past, he forgot her birthday and came around days later sincerely remorseful and overcompensated her with gifts. She was certain JP loved her as his aunt. ‘How could someone manage to really love another and not show it?’ she asked herself and was baffled. The question was not new to her
. She asked the same question many times and long ago of another man, JP's father, the industrial tycoon, George Rosenthal. She remembered her sister sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring; rushed for the mailbox when the mailman delivered mails; stayed at the patio late in the evening waiting for her husband. Those were the only memories she remembered every time she thought of her---memories of her waiting until she killed herself. She knew the reason why they kept their marriage a secret. It was her sister's wish. In spite of the strict secrecy she imposed, JP's mother fantasized on a normal family life to a point that she became sick. She lived a life as though tomorrow would be different. She waited and waited for a dream to come true but it never did until it became unbearable.

  Juaning hated George Rosenthal for the torment he gave her sister even though she knew he never neglected her completely. He gave her everything except his presence---a large house with a lavish garden, servants, chauffeur, and all the money she needed. Once, she spoke to him over the phone and hinted that her sister liked chocolate bars. Sure enough, cartons of expensive chocolate bars came from around the world on regular basis but he never brought them himself. Now she saw it in her nephew, JP. She knew how he was once he got started on something---completely emerged in another world. Remembered when she got him his first computer and the months that followed. Saw him sit all day and almost all of the nights with his fingers pounding the keyboard ceaselessly weeks on end. Forgetting to eat; to bathe; to shave; and even the time and the day. She realized JP was no different from his father nor her different from her sister. Yet she knew JP loved her. Is it possible JP's father loved my sister too? she wondered.

  From nowhere, she recalled a conversation with Lulu during one of their early morning walks---on the right thing to do when someone does something bad to another. She remembered clearly her words . . . ‘Regardless of how despicable what others do to you, it is the good things you do to them that matters.’ With that thought, Juaning was determined to talk to JP about his father the next time they meet . . . about the things he should know, the truth.

  More to Gain and Nothing to Lose

  JP brought Lulu to a theater inside the mall and got her to pick the movie from the five being shown. She chose a spy thriller based on a true story of a family caught in a espionage web during the Second World War that ended tragically. After the movie and while leaving the theater, JP said, “I noticed you closed your eyes to some scenes and wept too.”

  “I can't get myself to watch violence, deceit. Indifference to other people's life are things humans do that I can't seem to fathom. To think that the story was based on a real-life drama perplexes me more,” Lulu said, distraught.

  From Lulu's voice, JP could tell how deeply affected she was. Yet the movie's story was not even a close representation of the harsher realities going on around the world. She viewed world tragedies at a different perspective . . . an outsider . . . like an Alien observing humans. ‘How strange,’ he thought, but agreed with her---the world was going mad. “What kind of movies would you prefer?” JP curiously asked.

  “Family movies; stories of people helping each other; movies with emphasis on good moral character and values.”

  “You will hardly see those movies. No market.”

  “You mean people are no longer interested?”

  “That may be the reason. You should have picked . . .” he paused and walked backward to view the theater’s billboard. “I can see you had no choice,” he said, as the others were sex, violence, crime, and drugs.

  “Are you in a hurry?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Can we sit somewhere where we can watch people?”

  “I know a good spot for that.”

  “Take my hand, JP, and lead.”

  JP noticed the sweet innocent smile as she extended her hand. Unused to hold a woman's hand, he held lightly at first as his heart throbbed then firmer after a dozen steps; feeling the comfort of what clasped hands brings to two people; the assurance it conveys of being there for the other; the oneness it expresses to each other. They walked together leisurely with no words exchanged, happy at just the thought of being together. Lulu controlled JP's arm and swung it slightly timing it to their steps. She was intrigued as she observed strangers' faces walking by and JP intrigued by her.

  JP knew the perfect spot to watch people. It was at the heart of the mall. They were lucky---a couple vacated the bench facing the main walkway.

  They sat.

  “I like watching people,” Lulu started, “Wonder who they are and how they live their life, their relationships with one another. Have you done that before?”

  “No,” JP answered.

  “See the couple with the man wearing a blue shirt?” as she looked towards the couple’s direction. “They may be in their late twenties or early thirties.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell me something about them.”

  JP gave a serious thought to what he saw. “Married . . . maybe . . . teenage children wandering somewhere. They are just walking,” he answered.

  “Together yet alone,” she said sadly. “They've settled down so to speak. What a pity, to waste time to express their affection for one another. There are so many interesting things to do to make life together wonderful and they allow those precious moments go by. Constant assurance of love for the other is something one must never overlook. People seem not to understand or forget its value or importance. Fallen out of love they say but did they really try to keep their bond strong by constantly reassuring love for each other? I wonder.”

  JP was taken by what Lulu said and focused on the couple's faces as they passed. He saw expressionless faces devoid of life. Couples just walking hoping time would pass or maybe be somewhere or with someone else.

  Lulu hurriedly said, “See the well-dressed woman leaving the jewelry store holding a kid and another fronting us with two kids looking at the displayed moving toys.” She was looking in their direction.

  JP saw the two women and focused first on the well-dressed woman who held a small boy’s wrist wearing a small boy’s suit and polished black shoes. Being pulled, the boy walked sideways behind the woman with eyes awed at the same displayed toys the two other kids were looking at---a propelled plane on a string tied to the ceiling whirling around in the air; a moving train on rails complete with miniature people, stations, mountains, tunnels, and bridges; a walking robot; and a few more. The well-dressed woman had gold and precious stones that glittered from her ears, neck, scarf, wrists, belt buckle, and fingers. Her colorful silk dress flattered as she walked; her poise, elegant and glamourous. Altogether, it projected an aura of a dignified rich person with influence and power. He noticed her give a distance between her and the worn-out dressed women with the two kids---the taller of the two, a girl, who wore an oversized adult man’s jacket. The bejeweled woman seemed displease by their presence as she looked nonchalantly at the woman with kids while her own still walked sideways; still looking at the displayed toys noticeably being dragged. “She's well-to-do considering her dress and jewelries. Very conscious of how she presents herself in public and surely not paying any attention to the kid . . . most likely her son.” He turned his head and focus on the other woman. “As for the woman with a little girl and boy . . . they know their mother couldn’t afford the toys . . . they’re just looking. It’s a close-knit family from their interactions. The kids contented at just dreaming and the mother maybe wishing to buy the toys for them. They are having fun in spite of it. I wish I could just go there and give her the money.”

  “You feel it too?” she asked and with a sigh said, “Well, that’s life on this planet.”

  “You see things as though you are a visitor from another world . . . an Alien from another planet.”

  “A Martian?” Lulu exclaimed with surprise.

  “Yes.”

  Lulu considered her answer. “I guess I see things much like an outsider . . . an Alien from another world. It provides you a bette
r perspective. From where I stand, I somehow feel people in this planet prefer to ignore things that should concern them. Scared of reality lest they get involved.”

  “Care to expound?” JP was being candid but serious and eager to see her view.

  “The well-dressed woman with the kid dressed not just to please herself but to impress others of her stature. It elevated her from others of lesser means. She noticed the woman with two kids and simply disregarded what she saw or considered them unpleasant . . . not part of her world. She came out of the expensive jewelry store and surmise the value of her jewelries could easily provide years of basic comfort to the poor woman’s family. ‘It’s not her business,’ so they say. But it is her business as she is part of her world . . . everyone’s world. Sometimes the truth is hard and scary to face but must be or suffer its consequence.”

  Strangely, her statement made JP to reflect on something related. There were things he knew he should think of and avoided the things that made him recall. Was it because he was scared or . . .?

  “Notice how many couples are holding hands?” Lulu asked.

  The question distracted JP’s thoughts. “I don't recall seeing couples holding hands,” he answered.

  “This is a perfect time,” she hurriedly said. “Notice the couples walking this way?”

  “Two, no, three.”

  “Observe all of them as they walk pass us then close your eyes.”

  JP complied. He took all efforts to observe their facial expressions; their gait; and disposition then closed his eyes. “What now?”

  Lulu waited for a moment then said, “Imagine everyone holding hands.”

  JP visualized what he had seen then pictured two couples holding hands and the other having their arms around each other. “Big difference,” he concluded as he opened his eyes.

  “If only the world placed more value in loving one another and express it as often as they should, then this world will be very different.”

  JP looked around and twice closed his eyes and saw them in his mind’s eye holding hands. “It really makes a big difference,” he concluded then came up with an idea, “I will walk with the crowd and you tell me who you see. Okay?”

  “Walk all the way to the end then come back. Take your time and do it the way you normally do,” she instructed.

  “I will.”

  JP stood and walked away but seconds later looked back and saw Lulu take something from her pocket; folded it; as she walked the opposite direction but thought nothing of it. As he walked and, in hindsight, thought his suggestion was a bad idea but now stuck with it. He walked as he normally did thinking it be best she saw him for who he really is. When he got back, he noticed a couple had occupied their bench.

  “JP,” Lulu called out from a distance, behind.

  JP turned and walked towards her. “Where did you come from?”

  “I was walking and watching you from the floor above.”

  “You're a sneaky creature. Well, what did you see?” JP asked candidly but apprehensive.

  She purposely evaded the question and said, “I’ll treat you to ice cream,” and took JP's hand and led him to an ice parlor not far away.

  They ordered, then took a small table that had a view of the mall’s walkway.

  “This is another good spot to watch people, too,” Lulu started the conversation.

  “And your observation, Miss Freud?” JP asked with a tint of trepidation.

  Lulu looked at him. “JP . . . I saw a man just walking.”

  “That's who I am I guess. Nothing much to talk about.”

  “I saw a man going through the motions of life not knowing how to live it. You are not who you really are, JP. At least, from what I saw. But I know you are a caring man. A wonderful person to be with. Something must be holding you back. Is there?”

  JP did not understand at first but as he considered, it made sense. He realized he was just going through the motion of being alive and not living. Yet, people around him tried to take him out of a prison cell he made for himself. His Aunt tried, Greg tried, the people at work, and even Lulu. He seemed to find himself in a shell not making the effort to break out. He once wondered why he was unlike most people who can walk away from a computer. Was it his way to escape reality, the world?

  Lulu asked again, with concern in her voice, “Is there something holding you back, JP?”

  With a look of unease on his face, he asked, “Did Auntie Juaning talk to you about me?”

  “No.” The question puzzled her. “Should she?” she asked.

  “If you should know, it might as well come from me,” he said as though compelled to reveal a secret. “I told you that my parents are both dead. My mother is . . . I hope my father is too or just leave me alone.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since I was seven, when my mother passed away.”

  “Is Rosenthal, your father?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Not until now. I found it odd for you not to accept or return his calls. He is reaching out, JP.”

  “I wish he’d leave me alone. Why did he not call himself?”

  Lulu thought briefly then said, “For most likely the same reason you could not return his calls.”

  “You do not know the story. If . . .”

  “I need not know,” she interrupted then held his hand across the table. “Someone is reaching out is all I need to know.”

  “I don't want to talk to him,” JP said, controlling his emotion.

  “But he wants to talk to you.”

  “I shouldn't have opened the subject.”

  “Face your problem, JP. Face it before it destroys you and affects the lives of the people who care for you. You will lose nothing if you do. Listen to him, think it over, and then decide. You have everything to gain and only your senseless pride, and, worse still, yourself to lose. I think it's time for us to go home. Can we?”

  JP, with so much in his mind, nodded.

  As they walked out of the mall, the woman with the two children approached them. “Happy see you,” the woman said in heavy Mexican accent. “Mi son, no see dinero . . . no money on floor. Money . . . not ours. Me know you say . . . money not yours.”

  With a wide smile, Lulu pointed up with her pointing finger and said, “Cielo . . . heaven.”

  “Ah, si heaven,” as she pointed up too. “Yes, heaven. Muchas gracias (many thanks).”

  Lulu kissed the little girl wearing a new jacket and the boy who held a box with car printed on its side and they parted ways beading each other, ‘Via con Dios (Go with God).’

  “What was that all about?” JP asked.

  “When you started walking to the far end of the mall, I saw the woman unknowingly dropped something. It turned out to be folded money and gave it to her.”

  “And she said it wasn’t hers?”

  “Yes,” Lulu replied. “And I told her it wasn’t mine and left her at that.”

  “But the boy told the truth. There was no money on the floor,” JP said in an interrogating manner.

  Lulu looked at him for a second then pointed upward as she beamed girlishly.

  “Ah, yes. It fell from Heaven,” he said grinning.

  The small incident completely erased the gloom after they left the ice cream parlor.

  JP parked the car at the front of Juaning house and walked Lulu to the front door.

  Lulu said, “I really had a wonderful time.”

  “In spite of how it ended at the parlor?”

  “In spite of it. I hope you had a wonderful time yourself.”

  “I really did . . . and learned a lot of things. I hope you are not disappointed.”

  “Disappointed? Not at all. Just thought you’d be better off if you were alone.”

  “You are right. I have a lot of thinking to do. About myself, what Auntie Juaning said . . . and what you said.”

  “I'm glad.”

  Sounding concerned, he said, “I hope you will
not breathe a word as to who my father is.”

  “You need not ask but since you did, you have my word. Good night, JP, and thank you for a very wonderful day. Naska is Imar.”

  “Naska is Imar? I heard you say that before. Arabic?”

  “No. It's an archaic language. Its meaning depends on the circumstance when said. For now, it means, ‘God loves you.’”

  “Oh, Naska is Imar.”

  With no malice, she kissed him on the cheek and went in.

  SLEEPER IN THE MIDST

  “Can I have the Sunday newspaper, please?” JP said to Marijack who was sorting weekend mails behind the reception desk.

  “Sonny can’t make it to work today,” she said as she got the newspaper from the pile and held on to it. “Remember Sonny’s only child?”

  “Little Rosita. Adorable kid . . .”

  “She’s gravely ill. They brought her to the hospital last Saturday. The doctors said it’s a rare intestinal virus with no known cure. She may not see the week end,” she sounded sad.

  “Where did she get it?” he asked as he looked at Marijack, disturbed.

  “Most likely from a rural town in Jamaica where she vacationed with her Mom.”

  “I remember Sonny mentioned a vacation but that’s nearly a month ago!”

  “The doctor said the virus has a long incubation period. Is Lulu a pharmacist or something?” she inquisitively asked.

  “Not that I know. What made you asked?”

  “When Mom told her of Rosita’s illness, she went with us to visit her. Anyway, she spent more time with Rosita’s pathologist that ended with me driving her to herbal stores, a pharmacy, and helped brew a tonic. I pray it works.”

  “I hope it does.” He wanted to pursue the subject but something was bothering him. “Can I have the newspaper?” his hand extended.

  Marijack, behind the reception counter, held on to the newspaper and said, “She’s one in a zillion. Make a good wife. An Angel, isn’t she?”

  “She sure is. Can I now have the newspaper?” JP said smiling, a hand still extended.

  Marijack still held the newspaper, and said, “The man who gets her will be very lucky. What do you think?”

  “I somehow guessed where this conversation would lead.”

  “You know what Sonny would probably advise you?”

  “What would Sonny advise?” JP asked entertained and grinning.

  “Rape her, the first chance you get.”

  JP laughed. “Knowing Sonny, he probably would. Can I now have the newspaper?”

  Marijack handed the newspaper but did not let go. “I always dreamed of being a flower girl.”

  JP smiled and finally got the newspaper. He took a few steps towards his office and stopped. He normally read the front-page headlines first but, this time, he leafed directly to the International Section on something he saw on TV news that showed Germany’s Interpol raiding AFC International, a company in East Berlin. The Russians used the firm as front to conduct industrial espionage all over the world. What aroused JP's curiosity was one of the men herded and identified, as the spy ring's leader, was someone he knew, Samuel Lutz. He and Greg had a business meeting with Samuel Lutz over lunch in the early months of the company. If he remembered right, they shipped printers to the firm around that time. Holding on to the newspaper, he went to Lulu's office.

  Lulu’s office, like Greg’s, was extremely organized. Everything was where it should be. After pleasantries, JP said, “I pray your brew for Rosita works.”

  “It will,” Lulu, seated behind her desk, confidently replied. “I won’t be surprised where you got the information, no secrets from Marijack.”

  JP smiled but noticed how confident she was on the tonic doing its job. Somehow, he felt relieved. “You cease to amaze me. Where did you learn how to make it?”

  Rosita’s ailment was entering the last stage when the virus would migrate to her liver. At that point, Rosita’s life would be sealed. Lulu knew she had to act fast and took a risk with a hope she could fend off inquiries that might reveal her extraordinary abilities. “Firsthand experience,” she answered casually.

  “As a pathologist . . . pharmacist . . . or both?”

  “Being inquisitive by nature,” she reasoned. A reason she thought of before she decided to risk treating Rosita. “Rosita is lucky I witnessed Ata natives living deep in the Philippines jungle make it out of a tree root and leaves to remedy stomach problems. At that time, I was so curious as to how it worked, as it did wonders for my upset stomach, that I researched on it. That’s how.”

  “You seem so sure it will work and, strangely, I believe you.”

  She did not anticipate the remark. She did convey it with confidence. She knew what ailed Rosita---she read the pathologist and biochemist reports to include magnified pictures of the isolated virus. With the information, she activated a minute computer embedded in her left hand’s palm. Squeezing it gained access to Ria’s Bank of Knowledge. “I strongly believe in the power of positive thinking,” she said. “I have to be positive in everything I do. How else can you do it?”

  “Guess you’re right. It will work, it will work,” JP repeated.

  “That’s it. Deep inside and between us, I pray it will work as it did wonders for the native who used it.” Shifting the subject said, “What brings you to my office this early in the morning?”

  “Need you to find something in the computer.”

  Lulu turned her swivel chair and faced the computer by the side of her desk. “What do you want?” she asked with her hand on the computer keyboard, her posture ready to punch keys.

  JP laid and flipped the newspaper pages on Lulu’s desk until he got to the international section. As he did, Lulu caught a glimpse of the headline on the Science and Technology section a page before and became apprehensive but carried on.

  “Can you open the client list file? The name is Samuel Lutz. L-u-t-z,” JP spelled out.

  Lulu navigated through layers of computer screens; keyed in the name; and pressed ‘Enter’. “None listed,” she said, perplexed.

  “Try the company name AFC International, Inc.”

  Lulu keyed the company name then said, “That's strange.”

  “Why?”

  “I could swear it was there before and so with the name Samuel Lutz. Let me check something.” She keyed in more keys and saw more screens. She viewed the computer entry list and said, “Someone updated the file early this morning. 4:34 a.m. to be exact. This someone knew what he was doing. He even changed the backups but forgot the log file.”

  Lulu was not the type who forgets things, JP thought. Greg was the only person who knew how to work computers outside from Lulu and himself. He went to the filing cabinet behind Lulu’s desk and began to search the old shipping invoices leaving the newspaper on top of Lulu's desk.

  Lulu turned the newspaper a page back; read the headline then gasped softly, “Oh, no!” her hands covered her mouth then hurriedly left the room.

  JP heard a muffled sound and caught a glimpse of Lulu leave the room. He recalled seeing her flip a page and went over to see what she read. The headline on Science and Technology section read: ‘Congress Cuts Funding to NARLAB's Superconducting Super Magnetic Collider Project.’ He scanned other article headings on the page and found nothing to upset anyone. He thought nothing of it and went back to the filling cabinet and meticulously went through archived shipping receipts. He found no file on AFC during the early month of the company’s operation to his surprise but noticed a small remnant of a torn-out page where it should have been. ‘Does Greg know George Rosenthal is his father?’ the question crossed his mind. He returned the file and said to himself, 'If Greg is using me, I will use him. With business being where it’s at, it is not the time to confront. Besides, Greg could not get anything from or through him. There are no ties between him and his father.’ He decided not to pursue the issue and just pretend, ‘business as usual’ and left.

  Have to Act

&
nbsp; Lulu was crying inside the Lady’s room. The Superconducting, Super-Magnetic Collider Project was the last hope of her parents and the thousands stranded in space. She had managed to forget her plan to save them and force herself to abide by her parent’s wishes. However, she realized it now meant sure death to them if the completion was delayed. She can no longer pretend. She had to try.

  Lulu read from the newspaper that they cut the project’s funding for no immediate economic value. With twenty-two billion dollars earmarked for the project and the public's perception of it built to satisfy the curiosity of a few in the scientific community plus the poor state of the economy, the pressure to save money was there. The Nuclear Scientific Convention would start on Friday of that week at the Los Angeles Convention Center. NARLAB Director, Charles Cutler, also the Nuclear Science Adviser to the President, was to address a scientific symposium on that same day in the morning and decided to implement the plan she conceived while she was at the pyramid hip.

  Lulu's plan was to leak the technology to produce solid hydrogen---a safe and clean means of generating power. A pound of it would literally fly a 747 Boeing aircraft eleven times around the world and would cost twenty times less to produce a barrel of aviation fuel as the raw material to produce it was water! However, it needed a catalyst to bind hydrogen atoms together and, for that, they needed the super-collider. The same machine, when modified, would produce their ship’s fuel! Handing the technology to produce solid hydrogen would easily justify funding the super-collider project. But it was a double-bladed sword---solid hydrogen could be used to make a compact atomic bomb with no radioactive consequence! The same pound could wipe out New York City and its suburbs from the map.

  The prospect of its used for war was strong. The cold war between USSR and USA had reached a point that a thermonuclear war between them was a possibility. Though the leaders of both countries knew that whosoever made the first nuclear strike would win the war they also knew that there would be no real winner in the end, the aftermath---the global radioactive fallout and the greenhouse effect deterred war and maintained the fragile peace between Superpowers. If it were not for the ‘Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD)’ scenario, Third World War may have started long ago. However, a clean bomb may trigger it. A massive preempted strike would assure a winner and that was what Amo Obib feared. He did not want to gamble lest the Hiroshima and Nagasaki incidents repeated itself.

  Lulu thought of the consequence: ‘Who was she to predict war? It can go the other way, spawn peace,’ she argued to herself. She was resolved and said to herself, ‘Forgive me, Papa. I must try. Dear God, please help me.’

  That evening, Lulu came home with an assortment of computer hardware and assembled a computer in her room. Juaning, who helped bring the lighter stuff, was delighted to see it work. Lulu gave a brief demonstration and explained the importance of being computer literate.

  “Those things are beyond me.” Juaning confessed not understanding what Lulu explained nor did she care. “I'll leave you with it. It's time for my bed.”

  “Good night, Mom,” she said, and gave her a goodnight kiss on her cheek.

  Soon after Juaning left, Lulu took the pyramid crystal from her suitcase and set it by the PC's keyboard side. “Goopersh,” she said.

  The crystal slightly glowed, “Awaiting command,” responded Goopersh.

  “Scan my PC for hardware upgrades and reconfigure the computer’s operating system to allow it to import my files.”

  Lulu's PC glowed and its hard drive light flickered.

  A few seconds later Goopersh said, “Your PC’s operating system is reconfigured. Parts and schematic diagrams for PC upgrade are downloaded.”

  “Goopersh, how much power do you have left?”

  “12.2 years in hibernation state; eighteen minutes if the ship is operated at minimum.”

  “Download my file this time tomorrow. Good night, Goopersh.”

  The Russian Alpha Project

  An hour before Lulu communicated with Goopersh and within a highly secured military research compound in Moscow, Dr. Andros Petrosky, head of the Communication Research and his assistant Peter Nasburg worked on a low-priority but top-secret Alpha Wave Project. The project was to research on a wireless communication outside of radio wave for military purpose. Short of funds, the laboratory resembled a second-hand electronic shop with electronic equipment that were mostly outdated and some out of order. Most of their electronic spare parts on the shelf came from cannibalized electronic equipment.

  Two months earlier, as Dr. Petrosky and Peter tested their Alpha Wave Receiver, they stumbled on a weak alpha wave signal that emanated from outer space. They focused on amplifying the signal and two weeks ago, it came out clear and distinct. It repeated, at five second interval, a short message, 'Naska is Imar'. After a week of scanning different frequencies, they discovered another signal that came from a different direction. What puzzled and intrigued them was both signals transmitted the same message, ‘Naska is Imar.’ In as much as both signals where received at one spot, their laboratory, they needed to bring their alpha wave receiver to a distant location to triangulate the signal’s precise locations. For that, they needed a plane.

  To requisition a plane through normal channels was out of the question, Dr. Petrosky thought. The processing time will take months and most likely be denied. He decided to circumvent the system and called by phone General Igor Kievsky, a high-ranking KGB officer in-charge of all military research programs. He knew the general had both the political and military influence to help him and was very ambitious.

  Over the telephone, Dr. Petrosky briefed General Kievsky on the Alpha Wave's breakthrough without mentioning the intercepted signals. The general, realizing its military potential, was excited. A wireless communication system exclusively theirs; impervious to radio jamming; atmospheric interference; and it eliminated the use of decoders in high-level communication in pre-and-wartime events. That was something the military establishments wanted. Briefed, the general approved Dr. Petrosky’s request but asked out of curiosity, “Why will you need a plane?”

  “In the course of our research, we intercepted communication signals. I think it's a . . .”

  “Damn . . .” the general burst. “The Americans are ahead again.”

  “That is what we aim to find out,” Dr. Petrosky wisely replied. He knew he said nothing to involve the Americans. He played along knowing he had a better chance to get what he wanted if the Americans were involved in the equation.

  Giving it a thought, the general continued, “Nevertheless, it will not matter. If they have it and not know we do, we can eavesdrop on them. As for the plane, I'll get someone to call you. Just tell them what you need and how soon. Keep this a secret and communicate only with me.”

  “Only to you,” Dr. Petrosky acknowledged and hung up the telephone.

  An hour later, Peter barged in Dr. Petrosky’s office, extremely excited. “Come, I want you to listen to a taped conversation. I got the recorder to record midway.”

  “Over the alpha wave?” Dr. Petrosky exclaimed with surprise as he followed Peter back to the lab in a rush.

  “Yes. We are not alone in this technology and, most likely, behind,” Peter said.

  When they got to the room, Peter got the tape recorder to play:

  ‘. . . downloaded. . . Goopersh, how much power do you have left? . . . 12.2 years in hibernation state; eighteen minutes if the ship is operated at minimum . . . Download my file this time tomorrow. Good night, Goopersh.’

  Both understood English more so, Dr. Petrosky who asked, “What was said before that?”

  “She, from the sound of the voice, said something about downloading a file on her PC.”

  “What kind?”

  “The word sounded like 'magic diagram’.”

  “Schematic diagram?”

  “That sounds like it. The transmission is not military. The 'goodnight' was a giveaway.”

  “From the sound o
f its metallic voice, it seems Goopersh is a thinking computer,” Dr. Petrosky deduced.

  “I agree. That technology is way out of our time. Only Aliens can have this kind of technology!”

  Dr. Petrosky deduced, “I think we have a woman talking to Goopersh, a thinking computer, in an Alien ship, and have but 12.2 years if they hibernated and eighteen minutes if the ship is operated at minimum. The Aliens are running out of fuel and time!” he concluded.

  “And the woman is trying to help,” Peter added.

  “Where did this signal come from?”

  Peter copied the signal coordinates displayed on the computer screen then placed a dot of the coordinates on the world map framed on the wall. With a marking pen and a long metal ruler, he drew a line connecting Moscow to the dot then extended it to the map’s edge. The line crossed

  Russia, Asia, the Pacific Ocean, and the States of California, USA. Looking closely at where the line crossed California, he said, “My best guess is Los Angeles, California.”

  “What time was the transmission?” Dr. Petrosky asked.

  “I ran to you soon after the signal was terminated.”

  Dr. Petrosky looked at his wristwatch. “Transmission will be around 11:43 a.m. tomorrow. That will give us time to triangulate the signal's location. Let's hope the woman transmits, otherwise, we won't get a fix on her location."

  “Should we call General Kievsky?”

  “I'll do that after we get the signal location. Meanwhile, hook up a recorder to run continuously. We will . . .”

  A secretary called out from the door, “Sorry to interrupt. Dr. Petrosky, you have an urgent call from Air Force Commander Lieyech on line 3.”

  “Thank you,” he said and picked up the phone.

  TUESDAY

  Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Langley, Virginia

 

  Director Douglas Green, head of the Industrial Espionage Section of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), walked faster than normal for his office within CIA building at Langley, Virginia. Five feet four inches tall, he may not look the part but was well respected in the bureau, cool and decisive. Before he reached his office, FBI Special Agent Mark Triska approached him. “I was instructed to see you, Sir,” Mark said as he adjusted to Green's gait. He used to work directly under Director Green until he applied and got hired as Special Agent for the FBI. It was the required international travels, that often lasted for months, getting in conflict with his family life, that prompted him to change job.

  “Yeah, Mark. Follow me,” Green laconically said without losing his stride. “How is work with the federal bureau?”

  “No different except it’s domestic.”

  “I understand. International assignments may look appealing but not to a family man.”

  A stock of folders was on one side of the Director Green’s over-sized desk in his office. He flipped through folders then handed Dr. Samuel Dawson’s dossier to Mark. “This is a CIA-FBI joint venture. I got your boss' OK to help me as I am shorthanded on this top-secret mission and your familiarity with CIA operation comes in handy.

  “The Soviets are low on funds to finance their own research and development programs. They are relying on spies to get the technology they need through industrial espionage. We intend to put an end to this and publicly shame the Soviet Republic. I am assigning you to Dr. Dawson with FBI Agent Edward Lindley as your counterpart stationed at Los Angeles. We have enough evidence to put Dawson in prison but we want to get his contacts. Dr. Dawson is part of the NARLAB core group, a nuclear research facility. He has access to all classified information on all nuclear research programs. NARLAB Internal Security had suspected him for some time and we are working with them. We literally allowed him to make copies of less sensitive confidential files. He will be bringing it together with his other papers to the Nuclear Physics Convention held in Los Angeles tomorrow. I'm counting on you to keep an eye on Dawson and make certain you bring back the NARLAB files after you arrest him.”

  “When do we close in?”

  “Friday evening 11 p.m., Los Angeles time. Got me?”

  “Yes, sir. This coming Friday, exactly 11 p.m., Los Angeles time,” Mark repeated.

  “Don’t break your cover until that time as fourteen other teams in the country plus seven from Interpol in Europe and two in Asia are involved. This will be the biggest espionage round-up in the history. One clean sweep should send a clear message to the Soviets. Unfortunately, something went amiss and must do the round-up a month ahead of schedule. That’s the reason I borrowed you. I’m shorthanded.”

  “You’re referring to the Berlin bust.”

  “Right . . . Damn!” Director Green said in frustration. “Seven years of work may be in jeopardy because of one minor incident. I need you to . . .”

  Los Angeles, California, 9:40 p.m.

  Lulu had assembled a computer with three computer motherboards modified and wired in tandem. She turned her computer on and waited for Goopersh's transmission. At the expected time, the pyramid crystal glowed and the computer's hard drives indicator light flickered rapidly. A minute later, the light blue glow disappeared and the transmission ended.

  On her computer monitor, she reviewed the design she made to upgrade NARLAB's Superconducting Super-Magnetic Collider’s capacity. She printed the manual from her printer and downloaded the schematic diagrams on a flash drive for it to be printed at a print shop the following day.

  Over the Pacific Ocean

  At the same time Goopersh was downloading data to Lulu’s computer, over the Pacific Ocean, 216 miles northeast of Japan and over international waters, a lone Soviet military cargo plane was in the air. With Dr. Petrosky and Peter were two computer language experts and a team of commandos who brought with them parachute bags and rubber dinghies just in case they were needed.

  As expected, the transmission came at 11:42 a.m. Moscow time. The computer programmers intently studied the first 15 seconds of transmission---a continuous combination of squeak and thrill sounds. “Not binary for sure but definitely programmed,” said the lead programmer.

  “Can you interpret it?” Dr. Petrosky asked.

  “Not much to go on . . . no.”

  Peter, on a computer terminal, called Dr. Petrosky’s attention, “I have the location coordinates,” he said.

  “That will be all,” Dr. Petrosky said to the programmer then addressed Peter, “Get Goopersh’s location first.”

  “Our global satellite is focusing on the coordinates now.”

  Intently, the two watched the satellite zoom its camera to an area that showed nothing but the ocean.

  “Must be submerged. A submarine?” Dr. Petrosky commented.

  Peter stayed silent as he got the satellite to go on full magnification. “The resolution won’t be good but we’d know if there is anything on the surface of the ocean. Seeing something on the screen said, “It’s a small island! Two to three times the size of a football field. It’s a basalt island.”

  “Can we peer through?”

  “We don’t have the capability.”

  “Tell the pilot to head for the island.”

  “I already did.”

  “Good.”

  The plane headed north for Goopersh’s location. Since Lulu merely received the transmission, they could not triangulate her location but was certain it came from the Los Angeles metropolitan area. The second signal triangulated came from Cairo, Egypt, at the center of Khufu’s pyramid at Giza Plateau, and the third in outer space within our Milky Way Galaxy.

  As the cargo plane neared Goopersh's location at Bering Strait, US military jet interceptors were in the vicinity and within US territorial airspace.

  Near the area where the signal came, a number of small basalt islands jutted the ocean floor. Peter isolated the basalt island from the many. To his dismay, it was a mile within US Territory! With the US planes in the vicinity, they could not drop the commando unit without arousing suspicion. The plane flew parallel to t
he US-USSR border for twenty minutes then veered left and headed back to Moscow. The US jet fighters continued their regular air patrol soon after.

  After Dr. Petrosky reported to General Kievsky, the general ordered an Alpha Wave receiver be installed in Siberia and manned twenty-four hours. It was vitally important they get a fix on the woman or anyone transmitting on alpha wave, General Kievsky stressed.

   WEDNESDAY

  Lulu came early, as she normally did, and was surprised to see Sonny leaning on his old Dodge Colt sedan at the parking lot. It was unlike Sonny to come to work that early in the morning, 7 a.m. He normally came at the last minute, if not late, at eight. Sonny approached Lulu as she left her car. They greeted each other and spoke in Spanish.

  Sonny said, “I had no chance to thank you. Many visitors were in Rosita’s room.”

  “But you did. So, don’t worry.” Nevertheless, Lulu sensed that was not the reason why Sonny waited for her. She recalled soon after Rosita drank her potion, her severe stomach cramps dissipated and fell asleep in minutes---something Rosita never had since her ailment struck two days earlier. What Lulu concocted was a combination of analgesic for the pain, a sleeping ingredient, and a chemical extracted from a particular tree root that was lethal to the intestinal virus but not to its host. That specific chemical was something the medical field has yet to discover for this very rare viral infection. Thus, the doctors rendered Rosita’s ailment as incurable. What made her apprehensive was, much later, after Rosita slept, Sonny’s elderly aunt came to seek help for problems in swallowing. The aunt hinted that it was a spell casted on her. Lulu politely told her she could not do anything to help. There and then, realized she had placed herself in a predicament she did not foresee. She later learned that Sonny and his wife came from a rural area in Jamaica where faith healing, voodoo rituals, and witchcraft were prevalent. He fervently believed Rosita’s ailment was a spell casted on him and his family, Rosita, the first to suffer. Behind her apprehension, Lulu asked, “How is she?”

  “The Pathologist says no virus. And doctors said it a miracle that she alive. You broke spell on Rosita. I fear someone have casted same spell on my wife and me . . . Please help.”

  “Sonny, please believe me, I know nothing on breaking spells. I’d do it if I can.” Looking at Sonny’s reaction, she realized Sonny did not grasp what she said. She realized no explanation could change Sonny’s belief. He understood these things by how he grew up to understand them in rural Jamaica. In exasperation, she said, “Remember your promise?”

  “I remember. Not tell anyone you heal Rosita.”

  “Then, I’d like you to stick to that promise. Sonny, again, I am not a faith healer, though I did pray hard by Rosita’s side. But that was a prayer to God to help her. You see, Sonny, if word spreads that I can heal people or cast out spells, I will never have a normal life. People, strangers will knock at my door seeking help. The sad part is, I cannot help them. I’m no faith healer but someone who witnessed natives from the Philippines heal children with stomach problems similar to Rosita’s. Do you want to spoil my life, Sonny?”

  “Oh, no. I never do that.”

  “Then, please stick to your promise. However, do believe that it was a miracle for it was an answer to our prayers. Surely, God was there to save her. Do you understand, Sonny?

  “I understand.”

  “When will the hospital release her?”

  “This afternoon. Leave early today to get her.”

  They parted with Lulu praying Sonny would stick to his promise and see her as just a person who was but eager to help.

  THURSDAY

  The day finally came to test Gilda with its new mechanism and program. Greg, JP, Sonny, and Lulu were inside the R&D cage, anxious and excited for Gilda’s trials based on military specifications. Except for Gilda’s head, it was different from the old Gilda---no hinges but ball joints; no exposed pulleys and linkages but hidden gears within joints; no tractor wheels but legs! Everything went flawlessly. The simplified mechanism and new computer program did the specified tasks seamlessly twenty-one times faster compared to the Old Gilda.

  “Caramba! We did it!” shouted Sonny as the rest of the company employees clapped and cheered loudly outside the caged area.

  Holding a stopwatch, Greg said to JP, “It's 8% short of the military speed requirement,” and added, “The ball is in your hands, JP.”

  “Ball?” JP reacted, surprisingly.

  “It’s the program that’s holding down the speed.”

  “Not the program, it’s the computer chip’s speed.”

  “Can we buy a faster chip?”

  “We have the fastest in the market.”

  Sonny said to Lulu, “You give idea again.

  Lulu merely grinned at Sonny.

  Greg asked JP, “Can you tweak the program to get more juice out of it?”

  “I doubt it. It’s optimized.”

  Greg took a deep breath. “Seven days to go,” he said. “Let's cross our fingers no other company comes close to our speed.” Turning to Lulu, “You want something from Berlin?”

  “I didn't know you were leaving,” JP interrupted in surprise.

  “I didn't until an hour ago. Another possible big client, Partner,” replied Greg then turned to Lulu, waiting for her reply.

  Lulu answered with a smile, “Stories of you having a nice time.”

  Greg beamed at her then addressed JP, “Can we talk before I leave?”

  “Sure,” JP replied and they left.

  Seated behind his desk, Greg said to JP, sitting across, “Don't forget to see our patent lawyer before the week ends. You need to do a sales presentation tomorrow at 9 a.m. . . .” Greg continued then ended it with, “Got everything, Partner?” He was unusually serious in his manner.

  “I think so. You sound as though you're not coming back leaving me with all the information.”

  “Just in case I get held up in Berlin. Hey, Buddy, don't worry. I really think you . . . we have a good chance in getting the military contract. Focus on it.”

  JP noticed Greg was somewhat edgy, he asked, “Is everything fine?”

  “Everything’s fine. It’s my flight schedule. Got to leave before the plane leaves me,” he said, then stood.

  JP stood and met Greg halfway. “Wish you all the luck, Brother.” Somehow feeling it would be the last time he would see Greg,

  Greg looked at JP then said, “Wishing you all the luck too, Pal.” then they hugged and patted each other’s back. Greg got his two small bags on the floor and left.

  At 3 p.m. Lulu went to see JP and said, “Can I leave early and not come in tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Anything I can help you with?”

  “No. Need to do some errands this afternoon and meeting downtown a very old friend on vacation tomorrow.”

  “I’m heading downtown tomorrow for a 9 a.m. meeting.”

  “Can I hitch a ride?” she asked.

  “Pick you at eight?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Lulu left work and headed for a graphic print shop then spent the rest of the day reviewing the schematic diagrams and manual printed.

  JP AND HIS FATHER

  At eight in the morning the following day, JP, in a business suit, drove to pick up Lulu. She was punctual as always and saw her leave the front porch the moment she saw his car coming. He swooned at the sight of her walking fast that got her ponytail to swing side-to-side from her stride. Her sweet smiling face seemed to glow when it got under the early morning sun from the shade. He could only swoon and could only wish to freeze the moment or slow down time as he watched her come closer in her two-piece dress and a package wedged in her right arm. ‘What a sight to behold to greet the day,’ JP thought. “You need not run,” he told her as she entered the car.

  “Was I running?” she asked looking at him with her beautiful blue eyes as she sat.

  “You weren’t walking for sure. Seems you are in a hurry . . . and thinking of it, you
seem always in a hurry,” answered as JP drove off.

  “I am? I honestly never noticed that. Guess I just hate to waste moments to idle time. So many things to see; so many, many things to do; so many things to thank God for.”

  “Amen to that,” JP replied, feeling it as she did. “But could you imagine if everyone were like you, everyone would be in a rush all the time.”

  Lulu heartily laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a sight!”

  Their conversation was light, pleasant, and full of funny interjections. They were enjoying the drive, there being together. As they got closer to where JP would drop her off, he said, “Do you know the last time we were this alone was on the day I met you.”

  “I know,” she said in sigh. “I wish we had more time together. I am really so happy.”

  JP wanted to pursue the subject but they were at the hotel unloading area. “We’ll have more of this day soon after I set Gilda aside.”

  “Look forward to it JP,” she said beaming shyly. “Here I am. See you tomorrow.”

  JP drove to the Rosenthal building where the client had his office. It was a few blocks away.

  “The units will be delivered as scheduled,” were JP's parting words to their new client. JP closed a deal for 250 units of their latest high-speed printer. ‘Not bad for a beginner,’ he thought.

  JP left the elevator at the ground level and saw the lobby that led to the Rosenthal Global Industries corporate offices. It occupied the last eight levels of the tallest downtown buildings. ‘I'm here. I might as well see him and get it over with,’ he said to himself uncomfortably. He walked over to the Rosenthal Global Industries reception booth manned by three uniformed security men. They were busy assisting visitors and the one fronting him was on the phone.

  JP took the time to appreciate the huge mural that occupied the entire west wall as he waited. The Rosenthal Global Industries' name and logo protruded from a black granite wall and shined in gold. The mural depicted warplanes, tanks, missiles, communication satellites, space rockets, research laboratories, and other industry symbols the Rosenthal Global Industries were engaged in. Rosenthal's companies were so diversified it operated on all major countries in the world. On the left side of the mural were the company names of its subsidiaries---big and popular corporate names by themselves. Embedded on another wall was a large clock with gold hands and Roman numeral numbers. Underneath, in bold letters, was the golden inscription: 'TIME IS GOLD.'

  Most thought George Rosenthal tightly controlled all the companies. It must be an exaggeration, JP thought. There were too many companies for one man to oversee. But to the Rosenthal Global Industries’ top executives, it was a daily reality. Nevertheless, JP thought his father’s achievements were awesome.

  “What can I do for you, Sir?” the security man asked as he hung up the phone.

  “I’d like to see George Rosenthal?” JP replied.

  “Have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  The man took the desk phone and dialed, “Your name and purpose, please.”

  “John Paul Fernandez . . . personal.”

  “Hi Liz, Marvin at security desk. There's a John Paul Fernandez here who wishes to see Mr. Rosenthal . . . John Paul Fernandez . . . Yes.” The man held the phone and waited. “John Paul Fernandez,” the man said again. “Yes, he is here at the lobby.” The man noticed JP being uneasy. He covered the telephone's mouthpiece, “Mr. Rosenthal has an army of secretaries,” he explained.

  “Forget it. I will make an appointment next time.”

  The man gestured JP to hold with his free hand and said over the phone, “Yes Ma’am,” then hung up. “Miss Katherine Davis, George Rosenthal's Personal Secretary, is coming down. You must be a big man for her to do that and without an appointment,” he commented as he handed a pen and turned the logbook for JP to fill.

  JP filled the logbook but when he got to the 'reason' column, he hesitated. He returned the pen to the man and said, “I'll just come back some other time.”

  “Sir,” the man said, “You might get me in trouble.”

  “Why?” JP asked curiously.

  “Miss Davis said she’s coming down. Hate to disappoint her. It won't take long, Sir, please,” the man somehow pleaded.

  JP wished he had not come. He was not even sure if he wanted to see his father but he definitely did not want to see Miss Davis.

  The man handed over a visitor's pass. “What should I write for ‘reason’ sir?” he asked, ready to complete the logbook entry.

  “Business,” JP replied briskly as he clipped the pass on his suite's pocket; went over to the lobby sofa nearby; sat; and waited.

  JP recalled the first and last time he saw Miss Davis. It was almost twenty years ago. He was nine years old, almost two years after his mother's death. She came to the house with documents and he let her in. But before she could talk, Juaning entered the living room and things turned nasty. He remembered Juaning grabbing the papers from Miss Davis' hand and tore them to pieces then started calling Miss Davis names. All that time, Miss Davis sobbed as Juaning hounded her out the door and all the way to the sidewalk to a waiting limousine.

  JP had not recalled the incident until now and remembered what Auntie Juaning said when Miss Davis left: ‘That is the bitch your father slept with that got your mother to kill herself.’

  “JP,” Miss Davis said cordially with her hand extended.

  JP was startled. He stood and shook Miss Davis' hand instinctively. She was well-dressed in a woman’s business suit and carried herself well. For a woman in her early-fifties, she was good looking in both face and body.

  “How are you, John Paul?” she asked congenially with a warm smile.

  “I'm fine,” he snapped.

  Miss Davis felt the coldness in JP’s voice. She became formal, “Your father will be so glad to see you. Please follow me.” she said politely.

  JP did not answer but followed her to a special elevator.

  “Had you told us you would come, he would have prepared for it,” Miss Davis said hoping a normal conversation would ensue.

  JP wanted to answer but could not. He just walked alongside her towards a special elevator. Out of nowhere or, was it because of Miss Davis' voice, JP recalled talking to her over the phone before his mother's death but not after. She would normally talk to him first and remembered a pleasant conversation before she transferred the call to his father. JP thought it odd to remember it now and so clearly.

  They entered the special elevator and Miss Davis pressed the floor button. JP noticed there were only eight buttons to press. Being the tallest building in the State of California, he was impressed.

  JP stayed silent. So, did Miss Davis.

  As they neared the top floor, Miss Davis said, “Do you mind pressing the stop button?” She sounded different.

  JP pushed the button and the elevator gently stopped. He saw Miss Davis fumbling for something in her suit’s pocket. “Are you all right?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

  She sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, “I am terribly sorry. Do you have a handkerchief I can borrow?” she asked politely.

  JP hastily took his handkerchief and handed it to her.

  “JP,” Miss Davis said as she dubbed her eyes carefully with the handkerchief, “I don't know if you still remember the incident the first and last time you saw me.”

  “I do,” he replied in normal voice.

  “Please believe me, none of what your Aunt said were true. I don't know where your Aunt got the idea but there was never a relationship between your father and me. That is the truth.”

  JP did not react.

  “I will be frank knowing what you heard and what your Aunt may have said of me. I loved your father even before your mother's death. I would have done anything for him . . . even be his mistress. Being his personal secretary, I often went with him on business trips and stayed in the same hotel. On some occasions, we had breakfast, lunch, and eve
n dinner. Yet, in all those times, he was a gentleman . . . like a father. Our relationship always stayed on a cordial and professional basis to this day.

  “People around him think he's cold and ruthless. I cannot blame them. Your father is an extreme example of a workaholic. All business, but once you get to know him, as I have, he is a gentle and caring man.

  “I am the only person outside your family who knows that Mr. Rosenthal is your father. In the few occasions that we talked about your mother, he spoke highly of her. So proud of the sacrifices she went through for him. After her death, I never heard him utter your mother's name again. He changed. Outside from business, he became isolated. Alone, yet always surrounded by people,” she paused as she dubbed the tears from her eyes with the handkerchief again then continued, “You will find this strange, but your father remained devoted to your mother even to this day. But you have to understand him to understand what I have just said.

  “Your father, JP, is a very lonely man. He needs you badly,” she paused and took a deep breath, “For what's it worth, he loves you. You can push the button,” she said and returned JP's handkerchief then straightened herself.

  JP pressed the elevator’s button.

  JP did not know what to say nor think. There were many questions going through his mind. If he took the sketchy picture Juaning painted of Miss Davis, Miss Davis just told a big lie and good at it, too.

  At the topmost floor, Miss Davis led JP all the way to George Rosenthal's office. “Mr. Rosenthal will be with you shortly. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable,” she was cordially professional. She walked away and closed the door behind her.

  Behind Miss Davis's cool pretense, JP could tell she was hurting inside.

  JP found himself alone seated on a leathered sofa in a living room setting within Rosenthal’s spacious office. He somehow found it hard to believe that a mere office could be so opulent. In addition to the large and impressive executive marble table, the room had a modern living room set, impressive paintings on the walls, a bar, a large rectangular conference table, widescreen TV sets strategically located, and a glass-covered and spacious patio with an awesome outside view of west Los Angeles all the way to the ocean ten miles away. Rosenthal believed an executive’s office must project an aura of power to the one seated behind the desk. As such, he had a scaled-down replica of the mural at lobby that stood twelve feet high. Fronting it, Rosenthal’s oversized Italian granite desk with the same kind of color as the mural behind. His leathered chair was heavily padded. The mural, the granite desk, leathered chair, and spaciousness of the room altogether created a distinctive impression of the awesome power of the man seated on the chair---a throne to impress high-profile guests.

  Before JP could make himself comfortable, he felt the urge to use the toilet. This normally happens when he gets tensed and he was very tense. He remembered seeing the men's restroom at the hallway. He decided to use it. On his way through the reception room and seeing the secretary looking at him said as he passed, “I’ll just use the restroom.”

  “There's one in . . .” the secretary stopped as JP walked pass her and out of the room.

  Before JP entered the Men's Room, he got a glimpse of the secretary’s head peering out of the office door.

  JP was in the toilet cubicle when the toilet’s door swung open and sounds of footsteps reverberated within. “You're lucky the Old Man has mellowed. He would have beaten the shit out of you,” the first man said.

  “Hey look, I know nothing about chemicals and fertilizers. He knows that. I don't know why he is heading in that direction. The business is in military hardware where my expertise lies,” the person replied.

  “Stop whining. You're being paid big bucks doing what you're doing,” another said.

  The first man said, “Two years in a row the competition beat us when we could have beaten them hands down.”

  “I don't think the Old Man's heart is where it used to be. If you noticed, we are heading for non-defense related business and losing money,” the second man commented.

  “If I were you, I'd start reading on homes and gardens instead of war planes and missiles,” the third man advised.

  “I hope he assigns me to work on the Robotics Division. At least that is technical. It has no division head . . . better than gardens,” the second man complained.

  “In all my years with the company, I have never witnessed his meetings interrupted. The Old Man doesn't go for that. Noticed he turned pale when Katie spoke to him,” the first man commented.

  “I did. I wonder what Katie said,” the second replied.

  “Stop wondering,” the third man interjected. “We got ourselves a temporary reprieve. I'd advise we start reorganizing our reports now that we know where the Old Man is heading.”

  “He's right. But before that, why don't we have an early lunch while we can still eat,” the second man said as they left the room together.

  JP heard everything said. He headed back to Rosenthal's office where a receptionist led him to Rosenthal’s office.

  Rosenthal, standing near the door, cordially said to JP, “John Paul, I’m so glad to see you,” as he received him. His arms were wide open but since JP extended his hand, they shook hands. “How are you?” he asked, his tone of voice changed but still cordial.

  “I'm fine, thank you,” JP politely replied. He knew his father was a big man but he was bigger than he thought and an epitome of a successful entrepreneur in the manner he dressed, talked, and walked.

  Rosenthal led JP to his desk then decided they take the sofa somewhat unsure of what to do.

  There was an uneasy silence after they sat. Rosenthal started, “It is hard to act casual when there are things bothering you. I will be straight-forward, John Paul. I offer no explanations or excuses. I have none to give. I will tell you my life . . . where I came from . . . of your mother and me knowing well it will not erase my guilt. My only hope is your contempt would not be as much if you knew what had happened and maybe, why. What do you know about me?” he asked squarely.

  “Nothing . . . nothing outside of abandoning the family and getting my mother kill herself,” JP was blunt, cold. He felt leaving but remembered Lulu's advice. “I do not think you can make me understand,” he added emotionless.

  “I will try and appreciate your giving me the opportunity,” Rosenthal said then stayed silent for a moment. He continued sadly, “I never knew who my parents were and lived from one foster home to another with foster parents who did not care; people who thought of me as a necessary nuisance that as a young boy, I wondered what Christmas was all about or what love is or how to respond . . . Strangely, I feel no different now.

  “It hurts to realize how I grew up as a kid especially at the last foster home. Of the abuses, I went through; of having to learn to take beatings by clenching my teeth until the gums bled, for if I made a sound, it made things worst. I still have the scars. One day, my foster father came home drunk and, as usual, beat me for no apparent reason. I waited for him to sleep then clobbered him with a baseball bat until I thought he was dead. That ended up in my spending my teenage life in a correctional institution for minors, as I was barely thirteen of age. Life there was not pleasant either, but I had food, a bed, and a blanket. At that time, that was the only thing that mattered.

  “Being among the youngest in the compound, I had to fight to earn respect and be left alone. Months later, I realized prison was no place for me. I made a resolution to make something out of my life---be somebody. I spent my remaining time educating myself to almost anything I thought worth learning and became a bookworm on business and management matters.

  “I left the correctional institution when I turned nineteen with an overwhelming thirst to succeed. Everything went well for three years working as an assembler then a production supervisor and, finally, a sales manager which I aimed for. One day I saw a man smacked a boy hard and something in me snapped. I beat the man almost to death. For unknown reason, I
took his wallet with intentions of giving the money to the boy and got caught-red handed by a cop. I ended up in prison for assault and robbery.

  “After serving three years, on good behavior, I left prison with only $1,280 in my pocket. Not much for a man with big dreams. I held menial jobs while looking for work on something I knew I was good at, production and sales and that is hard to get if you are a convicted felon. I worked two jobs until I got sick. It was at that time that I got to know your mother,” he paused then continued, “Your mother . . .” he stopped. He moved both of his hands together that all finger ends touched. He briefly stared at them as he reflected.

  JP glanced at his father. He sensed he was looking back to a painful past and struggled to find words to express what he buried deep in his mind.

  “Your mother,” Rosenthal repeated, “was the sweetest and most caring woman I know. All I have started from her.” He said it slowly with reverence then stayed silent again. “We got to know each other because of our job. I was a part-time dishwasher and janitor for a hospital in New Jersey where she worked as a surgical nurse. On few occasions, we chatted during our breaks. It was always a pleasant chat and laugh most often.

  “One very cold evening, way past two in the morning, we left the hospital at the same time by coincidence. Not knowing where to go, as I had no place to stay, I walked her home. It was a good four long blocks from the hospital, and the subway a block farther where I intended to spend the evening. When we got near her apartment, I started to shiver. I remembered her taking her small coat and wrapping me with it. Soon she shivered herself. The next thing I remembered, I was in her apartment. She had nursed me for a day.

  “When I got well, knowing I did not have a place to stay, she offered to share her apartment until I got something going. It later ended with my sharing the rent, utilities, and food bills.

  “It’s hard to find a decent job being a convicted felon. While at it, I worked two, sometimes three, menial jobs. We hardly saw each other with the odd working hours that we had. On the occasions that we did, we were happy just being together.

  “After, maybe, six months, we decided to go on a day vacation from our work and escape everything. We headed for the beach. There I told her of my dream of going into business in a market that had good potential, supporting Uncle Sam in its war programs.

  “Your mother entrusted me with her savings. Money saved to buy a house with a small garden. She loaned it to me with no conditions so I can make my dream a reality.” He paused and in a hollow voice repeated, “My dreams.”

  “I moved to Chicago where the opportunities were. She remained in New Jersey working alone to support my business ventures and me. She'd scrounge and even got a bank loan so I could wear presentable business suits and go to flashy restaurants and do business.

  “For nearly two years she sacrificed for me but by then I got myself a good deal and from there the business spiraled. A year after, I got her to move to a bigger apartment then bought her a modest house with a yard for her garden.

  “In those two years, I did not see her though I communicated on all special occasions by phone or by a postcard. It was on the third year and on a Christmas day that I paid her a visit. I had never seen her so happy . . . I can still picture her in my mind as though it was only yesterday. That one-day visit ended with my staying with her for a whole week. It was a wonderful week and I was glad to see her so happy. I opened the subject of getting married and bring her to Chicago. She discouraged and argued against it, at least not while the business was growing, as she dreaded the social necessities of mixing in the social circle I was in---conscious of her accent when engaged in a conversation which to me was better than most; of being plain looking when I saw her as pretty; and small when she stood beside me which I thought was cute; and of being in my way. All she ever wanted was to be a housewife; prepare my food; iron my clothes; look after the children; and take care of me when I’m sick.

  “Work had piled during my week of absence. When I left, I promised her that I’d come back and make it up to her when things settled down. However, I procrastinated. There was so much to do. I was so engrossed in building an empire and business opportunities and deals came one after another that after a while, I had forgotten my promise until your Auntie Juaning called and told me she was at the hospital to give birth. I did not even know she was pregnant. I was with her when you were born but had to leave shortly after. I regret to say that that was the last time I saw your Mom.

  “In spite of my absence, I made sure she had everything she wanted. As business grew and larger contracts came in, I bought her a large house in New Jersey. I gave her a personal bank account, and paid for a governess, your Auntie Juaning, to be with her and you. I thought those were enough, and left it at that.”

  JP gave him the benefit of the doubt and listened to his side of the story even though the last part, the house, the bank accounts, and the governess, were all big lies. The only truth in what he said was his mother started him in his business. However, Rosenthal's last words '. . . left it at that,' got him furious. Unable to control himself he shouted before Rosenthal could utter a word. “Left it at that?! Left it at that?!” JP shouted the words in anger. “As a little boy, I wondered why an extra plate was always on the dinner table. I wondered why Auntie Juaning would announce dinner an hour ahead. Do you know why?” JP bellowed.

  Rosenthal did not answer and continued to stare blankly at the floor. He started to sweat though the room was comfortably cool.

  “My mother waited for you . . . you heartless bastard!” JP shouted with contempt. “Auntie Juaning announced dinner an hour ahead so when it came time to eat my Mom could say, ‘We waited for an hour. He is busy and tied up with his business again. He will be here tomorrow.’ Every day we did that and heard the same thing.” JP said angrily. After a brief pause, in a controlled and subdued voice, he said, “And what about me? What can you say to that?”

  Rosenthal knew he had neglected JP and had nothing to say to comfort him. He never had a father and did not know how to be one. He tried to remain in touch by phone after his wife’s death but Juaning said JP would not talk and even go on tantrums when his name was mentioned. He believed Juaning and left it to her to rear JP. However, Juaning's excuse was not the reason he stopped calling, it was fear. Afraid of being reminded . . . of remembering her---her sufferings, her loneliness. He was at the thick of building his dreamed business empire that he buried his remorse by working harder and forget everything else. He leaned and placed his hand on JP's knees.

  With thoughts that lingered on his father’s lies, JP violently brushed off his hands. Providing for his mother; of his buying her the houses; the governess. Juaning told him his mother was a wealthy woman before they met and started him on his business. She had no reason to lie but he had and so did Miss Davis. Then he recollected the day his mother laid at her deathbed. He said, sadly in a low voice, “You did not even come to see her at the hospital as the doctors tried to save her life. She called for you many times. Your name was the last word she spoke,” JP paused. In a somber voice, “You did not even come for her burial. Try to explain that as well,” he said without looking at his father.

  Melancholically, Rosenthal said, “I tried to be there. I was in Europe when I received the cablegram. When the plane landed at New York, I learned she had already died. I just sat at the airport. I was fully responsible for her death. In my guilt, I could not face her even in death. Instead of going, I went back to Europe.” He looked at JP---JP’s head was angled down; his upper body leaned forward with elbows on his thighs; hands clasped together. Rosenthal searched for words---anything to make it easier for JP to understand and accept him. The best he thought would happen was to have a civil and cold relationship. That was all he hoped and he would have been contented. However, even that was no longer achievable as he saw JP motionless at his seat, his face, cold and expressionless. He never accepted defeat but accepted this very important one. He stood
and slowly walked toward his desk and stopped midway. He stayed silent as the rage and mixed emotion within began to brew. He had succeeded to set aside his conscience as he focused all his attention and energies in building an industrial empire. He had managed to incase his remorse, sorrow, and guilt in a box, locked and hidden deep in his mind. Now, he must recall memories of her; of her suffering and loneliness; of his neglect. He had succeeded for so long to hold on to the fragile box of his guilty conscience. He did not open the box, it simply burst and made him shout, “You heartless fool!” He began throwing things on his desk but made sure JP would not get hurt. He went around half of the room destroying everything within reach as he repeatedly shouted in anger to himself repeatedly, “You heartless fool!”

  The sounds of crushing objects in Rosenthal's room got the secretary to peer cautiously from the doorway.

  Rosenthal, on seeing the secretary, shouted, “Get out!”

  The secretary quickly glanced toward JP seated at the other side of the room then immediately closed the door.

  Rosenthal went to his marble desk. Heavy as it was, he managed to turn it over with a loud groan. He moved back, ran, and hurled himself against the window. The window did not give way and he bounced back and landed hard on the floor.

  JP ran to his father’s side on the floor. His face was turning blue and fighting the pain in his chest. He showed signs of having a heart attack. JP immediately loosened Rosenthal's tie and unbuttoned his shirt’s collar. As he did, he saw his father in agony yet held up his shaking hand and gently stroked his cheek; forced a smile amidst his sweat and pains; and passed out.

  JP ran out the room and saw Miss Davis with the secretary and a security man nearby. “Get a doctor! He is having a heart attack,” he said in urgent. On seeing Miss Davis grabbed the phone, he rushed back to his father's side and applied CPR. No sooner, Miss Davis rushed in; knelt on the floor and held Rosenthal's left hand. As she wept, she murmured, “Please, God, don't let him die. Please, God, don't let him die.”

  Minutes later, the paramedics came and took over. Miss Davis stayed by Rosenthal's side holding on to his hand and went with them as they wheeled him to the elevator. As she glanced back, she saw JP standing outside when the elevator’s door closed.

  The Confession

  JP drove directly to Juaning's house and got there a little past noon. He did not know how to take it. Where is the truth? His father seemed to be telling the truth but it did not make sense to what he knew. It had to be a lie. He was confused. He hated him and yet, now, he loves him too.

  Juaning opened the front door. She saw JP pale and brought him to the living room.

  “My father is in the hospital,” JP said blankly as he sat on the sofa.

  “Is it serious?” Juaning worriedly asked as she sat beside and angled herself to face JP.

  “He was unconscious when the paramedics took him.”

  “Why you are here? You should be by his side.”

  JP was surprised. She hated him as much as he did, if not more. He expected her to say something nasty like 'good for him’ or worst. He replied on Juaning’s reaction, “I don't know what to believe . . . what to do. I’m confused.”

  Juaning held JP's right hand. “JP, look at me,” she said.

  JP angled himself and saw her in tears.

  “I have a confession to make,” she said and took time to wipe her tears. “Last Sunday, when I was mad at you, I realized something I did not understand before. Something very important . . . JP, in fairness to your father, after your mother's death, he tried and wanted to be a father to you. But I did not allow that to happen. I wanted him to suffer as your mother did. I told him lies about how you felt and poisoned your mind about your father. The only truth I told you was he hardly visited or called your mother. The rest lies . . . a fabrication of a foolish and selfish woman.” She paused as she recollected her guilt, “After your mother died, you yearned for your father and eager to speak to him over the phone as you did several times before when your mother was alive. When your father called after her death, I told him you would not talk to him. I said the same thing every time he did.”

  “Why didn’t he come to see me?” JP asked eager for an answer.

  “He did a couple of weeks after but I prepared you for it. You were so young and gullible. I told you how bad he was; how he caused your mother’s death; and how to behave if he came to see you . . . even the words to say. On the day that he did, you scorned him, locked yourself in the room, and went on a tantrum. The carload of toys he brought, I left on the street for anyone to pick. Since then, he would call and ask how you were and if you needed anything but I knew what to say. Months later he stopped calling. Thereafter, I burned all letter addressed to you that came from him and marked other letters with ‘Return to Sender’.”

  “And about my mother being wealthy?”

  “Your mother, JP, was not wealthy as I told you. She was a working surgical nurse. Your father gave her everything she had, the house, the tours, your schooling, the money, everything.”

  “Miss Davis being my father's mistress?”

  “I was merely guessing and knew later it was not true.”

  “But why did you hold on to the truth all this time?” he asked in frustration.

  “I hated your father. If only he visited or called more often, your mother would still be alive today. I wanted him to pay for her suffering and death. But there is another reason . . . I always wanted to have a child and you treated me as though you were my own.” She paused then said, “I feared that if I did, I would lose you. I am very sorry JP for that is the truth. I wish to ask for his forgiveness and yours too. Can we go to the hospital?”

  “We should,” JP replied, hurriedly.

  “Give me a minute to prepare. Meanwhile, leave Lulu a note. Tell her . . . tell her a cousin had invited us to stay with them for the evening.”

  Juaning was in her white private nurse’s uniform and held on to an overnight bag.

  JP got her bag. “Plan on staying over?” he asked.

  “He’ll be in the hospital for at least two days judging from what you said. I have to stay and care for him until he gets well for all this is my fault.”

  THE RECONCILIATION

  The Intensive Care Unit waiting room was comfortably cool. Small groups stayed close together seated on lined plastic chairs speaking softly, some sniffing, some whimpering, some just sat. Miss Davis was alone with vacant seats beside her. She had a tissue box on her lap. Her hair was slightly disheveled; her makeup smeared around her eyes and her eyes reddened by tears. She was much to herself to notice JP and Juaning enter the room nor was she distracted when Juaning sat by her side.

  “How is he?” Juaning said in a soft tone of concern.

  Miss Davis, taken aback by her presence, collected herself. “He is in guarded condition,” she replied politely.

  Juaning held back from crying and took time to speak. “I pray to God, He will make him well. Please, God,” and tears rolled on her cheeks.

  Miss Davis gave her a tissue.

  “Miss Davis,” Juaning said as she took the tissue and wiped her eyes and cheeks, “I will take this time to apologize. Since we last saw each other, I have never been at peace with myself. I told JP the whole truth.”

  Miss Davis looked at her and then JP who smiled to acknowledge. She said to Juaning in a low voice, “It was so long ago that I have already forgotten. Please call me Katie.”

  “Oh, thank you, Katie,” Juaning replied with solace. “I pray he will pull through. He has so much to live for,” and they stayed silent.

  A minute later a doctor came. “Are you related to Mr. Rosenthal?” he said, referring the question to Katie.

  Katie did not answer but instead looked at JP.

  “I am his son,” JP said. “How is he?” he asked.

  “He had a mild stroke and not responding as well to medication. I do not say this to offend anyone but I have seen this happen a couple of t
imes. Is there someone that mean a lot to him?” the doctor asked in a serious tone and sense of urgency.

  “What do you mean?” JP asked.

  “I will be direct as we may not have time. I do not think he is fighting to live. I believe he is fighting hard to die,” the doctor said bluntly as he looked at everyone.

  Juaning and Katie looked at JP.

  “Can I see him?” JP replied.

  “Follow me,” the doctor said as he led him to the Intensive Care room. “He is slightly sedated but he should hear you. Say something to lift his spirits.”

  The lights were subdued in the ICU room. An oxygen tube was in Rosenthal’s nose and a spiral cord connected to the heart monitor led underneath his thick hospital blanket. The right side of his forehead and cheek were slightly swollen. His eyes closed and still.

  JP rushed to his father’s side; held his left hand with both hands; and said, “Dad . . . Dad.”

  Rosenthal's eyelids slowly opened halfway. On seeing JP, he managed a slight smile and weakly gripped JP's hand on his then closed his eyes and his hold loosened.

  JP was apprehensive. He looked at the doctor who was looking at the heartbeat monitor overhead. JP gently rubbed the back of his father's hand as he kept on repeating, “I love you Dad.”

  The doctor on seeing what JP did, instructed, “That's good. Keep rubbing, keep assuring.”

  “Dad, everything will be fine. I love you Dad,” JP repeated then gripped in fear as Rosenthal did not respond. He seemed to be in a comma much like his mother before she died.

  The doctor watched the heartbeat monitor. JP watched the doctor and every now and then looked at the monitor. Time seemed to linger, the seconds like minutes as he anxiously waited for the doctor to say something . . . anything as he kept on rubbing his hand and saying, “I love you, Dad.”

  Finally, the doctor turned and whispered to JP, “He is asleep. All he needed was you.” He tapped his shoulder and left the room.

  THE FBI INCIDENT

  On that same day, after JP dropped Lulu downtown, Lulu walked to the Los Angeles Convention Center a block away. She held on to a package addressed to Director Charles Cutler thinking it would be a simple thing to personally handover and briefly talk to the Director. The perception vanished when she got to the convention hall’s main entry. Unruly war, ecological, and nuclear test protesters picketed the main entrance calling attention to their cause. It was a fractious crowd that chanted and waved placards held by overzealous individuals. Some looked and acted crazy. The police officers had their hands full controlling them from breaking through the cordoned area.

  Lulu managed to find her way into the Convention Hall through the side entrance and up the balcony. At the far end, a small group of protesters disrupted the session. They shouted slogans and obscenities at the speaker, Charles Cutler, NARLAB director. Soon the security men were all around them. After a brief scuffle, the protesters were hauled out.

  Director Cutler was the first speaker to address the scientific minded audience. He spoke on the delay to the completion of the Super Conducting Super Collider Project and the new NARLAB agenda. Before the end of his presentation, Lulu hurriedly left the balcony to catch the director back stage but found the hallway cordoned. She went to the NARLAB booth at the lobby and a woman, sympathetic to her plight, told her the director had already left but stayed in a hotel near the airport. She advised her to take the hotel's shuttle bus from the international airport as the best way to escape the heavy security and crowd of protesters there. Lulu took the woman's advice.

  The Hotel Incident

  It was 11:05 A.M. The hotel’s airport shuttle bus Lulu rode from the airport drove slowly thru a crowd of unruly, placard-bearing protesters that blocked the hotel’s main gate. Protected by crowd-control policemen, the shuttle bus traversed from the street to the hotel’s compound and parked at the hotel’s main entry. Security was tight. Lulu noticed the security men asked for plane ticket stub to include a search to gain hotel entry. She stayed at the midst of the group she rode with. Tensed, she walked pass a security man the moment he was not looking and headed straight for the front desk. She placed the package on the counter the moment she got there. Her heart throbbed when the receptionist’s face turned pale; moved back; and left the counter in a rush. Soon plain-clothed FBI agents surrounded her, two held her arms securely from both sides. “We're Federal Agents,” Agent Edward Lindley said flashing his badge discreetly. “Please leave your package on the counter and come with us.”

  Lulu acted calmly and complied. She was glad they simulated this kind of scenario at the ship. “Did I do anything wrong?” she asked with composure as she walked wedged between a suited woman and Agent Lindley holding her arms.

  “It will be explained to you at the manager's office,” FBI Agent Lindley answered.

  She glanced back and saw a bomb squad at the counter. One held a sniffing dog. ‘Act calm,’ she kept telling herself.

  Inside the manager’s office, FBI Agent Lindley introduced himself and asked, “Do you have any identification with you?”

  “Yes, it's in my bag. Am I being arrested?” she asked casually.

  “No, but we would like permission to search both your package and your bag.”

  “You have my permission,” Lulu replied and handed her shoulder bag to the woman agent beside her.

  The woman meticulously searched the bag’s content then handed Lulu's Driver's License to Agent Lindley.

  “Luningning Spence?” Lindley said looking at the driver’s license then stared at her face.

  “That is my name.”

  “Is this your current address?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there someone there to confirm your identity?”

  “Yes, Juanita Jones. She is my landlady.”

  “I'm glad you're cooperating. Can we have your home and work phone numbers?”

  The woman agent wrote the telephone numbers Lulu gave then left them.

  Agent Lindley explained, “Three hours ago, we received an anonymous call saying someone with a bomb in a package will come by. That may be a crank-call but we cannot lower our guard since you took precautions to evade the security at the front. It made you look very suspicious. May I know why?” he politely asked.

  “I want to personally hand over the documents in the package to Director Charles Cutler. When I noticed, entry was allowed only to plane ticket holder, which I don’t have, I purposely eluded the security men. I’m sorry and regret, I did that.”

  A man came in and handed over an unwrapped package to Agent Lindley and said, “It's clean.”

  “Can I see what is inside the package?” Agent Lindley asked Lulu nicely.

  “Please do.”

  Agent Lindley went through the package’s content---a manual and folded blueprints. He browsed through the pages of the manual. It was obviously of scientific nature with mathematical equations on a number of pages. “You in the science field?” he asked.

  “I'm a theoretical physicist student. I have a theory which I hope the director would review and give an opinion on.”

  The woman agent came back and returned Lulu’s bag and to Agent Lindley said, “She checks out.”

  “Can I go now before I miss the director?” Lulu said.

  The woman agent replied, “I'm afraid you've missed him. He left the hotel a few minutes ago.”

  “Is there anyone here I can hand over my package for the director?”

  “Anyone with a badge with NARLAB written on it comes from National Atomic Research Laboratory. I hope that will help,” the woman agent answered.

  Agent Lindley said, “I’d like to apologize for the inconvenience.”

  “No harm done. Can I leave now?” she said coughing after.

  “You may,” he said giving her back the manual and blueprints. “I purposely took the wrapper off lest someone grabs you again. Take something for your cough,” he advised.

  Lulu smiled; took the manual; wedge
d the blueprints in the middle; and left the wrapper behind.

  “Thank you,” Lulu replied.

  Dr. Samuel Dawson

  There were a number of people who milled at the hotel's lobby. Lulu crisscrossed the floor searching for the NARLAB badge on any of them. Finding none, she headed for the coffee shop. It was full. She did not see Dr. Samuel Dawson's badge as she walked pass him from behind but saw it on her way back. She stood by the vacant seat fronting him. “Can I take this seat?” she asked politely.

  “Be my guest. I'm about to leave,” Dr. Dawson replied.

  “Please, I want to ask a favor,” Lulu said as she placed the manual on the table and sat. “Do you know Director Cutler?”

  “We are colleagues,” he answered in a manly manner.

  “Can you do me a favor and give him this research material?”

  “Is he expecting this?” Dr. Dawson asked coughing right after and motioned to get cough candy from his coat pocket. His cough was infectious that Lulu cough herself. “Care for one?” he offered, extending his hand with the cough candy to Lulu.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the candy and held on to it. “My throat is just as itchy. It must be the weather,”

  Dr. Dawson unwrapped his candy and placed it in his mouth.

  Lulu said, “To answer your question, no. He does not know me. It's important he gets it.” Ever trusting and naive, added, “There's a letter wedged right after the front cover. It will explain everything.”

  “Why not mail it?”

  “It is very important that he personally gets it and very soon.”

  “Okay. I have to leave. You said the letter would explain everything. Yes?” as Dr. Dawson prepared to leave.

  “Yes,” Lulu answered.

  “Okay. I am Samuel Dawson and you are?” he asked as he took the manual with the blueprint wedged between its pages.

  “Rebecca Smith. Thank you for being so accommodating,” Lulu said and they left the coffee shop in separate ways.

  An FBI agent watched Dawson at a distance and took photos of Lulu and Dawson inside the coffee shop. On seeing them stand, he immediately activated a radio on his coat. “Craig, a Caucasian woman, black hair; blue eyes; in white blouse; navy blue skirt with a black shoulder bag is heading for the lobby. Follow her.”

  “Copy,” Craig, stationed at the side entrance, acknowledged then hastily walked to the lobby. He saw Lulu and tailed her.

  Lulu took a shuttle for the airport and from there took a bus home.