Captain Amos, on the other hand, is ecstatic that someone is honestly trying to do something, not let people die because of politics, and spends the entire trip out telling me what he (me) should do next. He gets so outlandish, I actually ask him to talk about something else while we're on the course trying to putt.
I spend the night in the hotel, listening to the commentators. It's now 65 countries that have banned me and 18 offering some incentive, such as citizenship or free accommodations. I try not to take the disparity personally. Once again, there are as many opinions of me as there are commentators, adding to my confusion. I'd always thought there was some actual right and wrong in the world, but I guess I was wrong.
Back to LA late Wednesday, get a text from Taylor cancelling Saturday (not the actual day, just our date) for family obligations. Tells me something that she doesn't want to take me to meet them yet. I spend a few hours flying around, but don't find anything worth hassling over.
Thursday is quiet at LAX as well, giving Perez ample time to give me crap over my latest international incident. She asks me when I'm going back, I tell her tonight. The violence hasn't let up at all, and now I find out that they have nerve gas stockpiles.
I'm betting my General is having a heart attack about now, and he has no way to contact me since I am not scheduled to meet Celeste for another week. Might drop by the bank tonight, just in case.
We go eat at Ariela's restaurant, as is customary, discuss the drug busts this week as is customary, and Perez sends me off into the night as is customary. (That's ‘don't do anything stupid' if you didn't have that down by now.)
I have no where to be for two and a half days, but I don't spend nearly that long. By Friday afternoon America time there is no longer a Syrian Air Force, no tanks left that I can find, no helicopters either, no artillery, and I know where the nerve gas is. Once again, those fools at the Internet are pretty damn smart.
The only problem is that the nerve gas is in a bunch of artillery shells, aircraft bombs, and spare containers, and no easy way to move it all. Research tells me (that Internet thing again) that heat will destroy the gas, and there are steel mills in Turkey and Iran within easy reach. Takes me until Saturday afternoon, but the gas is gone. At least the gas I found. Not impossible that they got some away from me, but nothing I can do about that today. Worries me though.
Hopefully, no one is dumb enough to really use the stuff. Except, of course, that I already killed a guy who was trying to take out Pasadena with it.
I get authentic sleep Saturday night, a little visit from Fog Dude, planned I think to be no longer than a congratulatory remark. He's gone before the ball strikes, and I'd swear there was music playing in Fog Land.
Run Sunday, then watch more commentators talk like they know something useful, head out early to mom and dad's, and eat too much. Perez asks me to check out Dallas and Houston later, since the snitch in Dallas claims that, once again, there are no incoming drugs for LAX.
He's truthful, it turns out, but there's the usual missing piece. Drugs headed to LAX from Houston on Monday, and in a surprise repeat appearance all the way from Kona, I find more on Tuesday (Monday night/Tuesday morning middle of the night thing), flying the Houston to San Francisco to LA path.
By the time I get on my aircraft to fly home Tuesday morning, we've broken the $25 million barrier in drug busts. I have a great flight back, even with Don the Perfectionist at the controls. Not sure why, but I seem to be enjoying the fact that I have pissed off people on virtually every continent in the past two weeks.
The news is on in the terminal when we get back, something bad is up. Turns out to be a problem in China, nuclear problem of some kind, supposedly unsolvable problem of some kind, a problem for Superdumbass? A chance to make amends? Maybe. I'm going home to study before I make another dumbass move.
It's after 10:30 when I get to my apartment, so I decide not to call Perez. The coverage on CNN is pretty extensive anyway. Underground nuclear reactor, going critical, no way to get the nuclear material out before it does the melt down thing. They are evacuating a couple million people, whose homes are threatened. Nanjing, where the reactor is located, has a population of almost seven million, and is located near the Yangtze River Delta, meaning serious environmental damage will result if the radiation hits the water.
I definitely think it's a job for superdumbass, the light, usually gungho about such things, doesn't think we need to go, but it's up for the flight. So it's off to Colton, change into my birthday suit, hide my underwear by the trash can behind the restaurant and my key on the light fixture, cruise off shore, then rocket engines to full, parabolic arc arcing, and in under an hour I am off the coast of China, naked (though unlike going to Chile, I don't speak the language).
It's late afternoon here, still daylight, sunny. There is a large city directly to the west of me, which I assume is Shanghai, due east of Nanjing. If a cloud of nuclear debris rises in Nanjing, it will come this way. There might be 20 million people total in its path.
I dive under the water, and cruise inland down the Yangtze. Every time I see a big boat, I pop to the surface, until finally I see a yacht heading toward the ocean, with a nice beach towel drying off the on railing.
From that point on I fly about 10 feet above the river, covered by my newly stolen towel, searching in earnest for some clothing. And, strangely enough, there is an outlet mall next to the river bank. I thought those only happened in America. I pop inside, grab some Nike running shorts and a t shirt from the Nike store, leave them my towel, and exit stage left.
I go ahead and cruise on up to a couple hundred feet, and fly the 200 miles to Nanjing. The roads are packed, it looks like the whole city of Los Angeles stuffed onto one freeway, except that only a fool would drive a car that small on an LA freeway.
Once I'm in the neighborhood, it's easy to find the spot, just like it was in Chile. The sound and the smoke point the way. And, once again, the air is full of dust, drifting like a curtain of disaster in front of me. And, once again, I ignore it and fly in.
There is a small group of buildings, one and two stories, that seem like the kind of office buildings you'd find anywhere. They surround a larger structure the size of a barn, no windows, one giant door facing south. There are two men in funny white suits, otherwise the place looks deserted from the sky.
I make a giant loop out to where the road blocks are on the way in and land next to a couple soldiers, praying they speak English. They don't, but that doesn't stop them and they point east and hold up three fingers. Miles, kilometers, intersections, road blocks, whatever, that isn't much help, but I head off in an easterly direction.
Probably meant kilometers, because I'm about that far when I see a much larger road block, and an array of military equipment. Landing, I encounter one civilian and lots of folks in uniform headed my way. They all speak some English, though only the civilian speaks it well. The message is simple. The reactor is going critical, it's 1,500 feet down in a tunnel, and I need to remove a portion of it, which will be radioactive, and get it somewhere safe. Then I need to leave the country, thanks for the help.
They have a photo of what to take, and a map of where to take it. It weights 2,000 kilos. Is that a problem? I think for a minute, and tell them I believe I can handle it. They give me another map of the tunnel system, make sure I understand that the entrance is through the barn, and thank me.
Off I go, neither the light nor I think we got the whole story. The light wants me to go home. I'm going to the site anyway. The barn is empty, the two guys in the white plastic suits I saw earlier are wandering around outside, but I don't stop to chat. I'm into the door, and looking around.
There's lots of equipment of various kinds scattered on tables against the walls, but mostly the space is open with a large elevator shaft in the middle. The elevator is at the surface, not obviously damaged, but to me it's not needed, only an obstruction. There are flashlights on the tables, a variety of sizes, including the big yellow ones with rectangular bottoms, large lights, and lunch box style handles. I land, test a couple of those, pick one, and walk over toward the elevator.
I stir fry some molecules and rise gently, reach out with my free hand, and rip the elevator car off its cable. The rest of the supports stay steady, so I put the car down a few feet away, take a deep unnecessary breath, and dive into the shaft.
It's dark, but there's a light at the bottom. The tunnels are not the dark and dirt filled tunnels of Chile, they are clean, open, tiled tunnels that look like the Lakers should be using them to enter Staples Center.
The map says down the main hall til the third intersection, make a left and follow that hallway until it ends. I fly to the intersection, stop and hover. It's a trap, I know it now, the light mad, not at me, but at these fools for thinking it would work.
Except maybe it does. An explosion rips the wall behind me, sealing the tunnel and filling the air with dust, exposed now only in the meager light from my flashlight. As I right myself and start to think about the easiest way to dig out, the ceiling explodes downward, a blast of rock, red flashes, and white light. The sound is deafening, first from the explosives, and then from the falling debris. When silence comes again, I am encased in dirt and stone, 1,500 feet below the surface of the earth.
Chapter 13
Dumbass. I knew it was a trap and should have gotten out of here. But noooo, I had to be the hero. The light is laughing at me, it never wanted to come in the first place. Trust the light. I should know better.
At the moment, I am extremely uncomfortable. I can't see a fucking thing. I can't move very much. While there might not be 1,500 feet of rock sitting on top of me, it's got to be close, and that's a little heavy, even for a Mental Fucking Midget Man like me.
The light, in his infinite wisdom, suggests dancing. I comply. I turn my body left and right, hard, hard as I can under the circumstances. It works, sort of. The earth around me is compacted, forced away from me by my force, and I have a little room to move.
Now what matters is direction. I was facing the tunnel toward where the fake reactor accident was supposed to be. Not the way I want to go, so I try to visualize the area above. The main tunnel ran north to south. The side tunnel ran off to the east. South of the compound were a bunch of farms, the other directions led into the city. The Yangtze is to the south, and not too far, maybe three miles. South is where I want to go.
Before I can start, the dirt collapses back down on me, pinning me once more. Annoyed, the light starts singing again. I hold off a second, thinking. I can take this slow, the light just wants us out, I don't want them to see us leave. I bring my hands up in front of me, the dirt three inches from my face, and start digging.
No intention of breaking the surface until well after dark, I move dirt from in front of me to behind me, sliding along a foot or two at a time. There's an occasional rumble in the direction of the tunnels, probably secondary collapses, but nothing that affects my progress.
At one point, bored out of my mind, I try spinning as fast as I can and pushing into the dirt. The light is laughing at me. I get about three feet forward before I am so dizzy I have to stop for 10 minutes before I can start digging normally again. So much for comic book solutions.
I do my best to pack the soil behind me to avert any obvious collapse of the ground above. I am not a geologist, so I have no idea how likely it is that my digging 1,500 feet down will do something noticeable on the surface, though the tunnel I am creating and re-filling is only a foot high at best. It's a good thing I'm not claustrophobic. My lungs are still getting dirt in them, even though I am obviously not breathing air, and my eyes keep getting dust in them as well. Miserable.
When I think I am at least two miles away, I start to angle my tunneling upward, and get a nasty surprise. The dirt that had been relatively easy to move becomes rock. I turn back downward into the dirt layer and dig. In one sense, it makes me happy, because that rock is likely to shield anything I do this deep from the surface. On the other hand, it's going to make getting out of here messy.
Another hour or so and the ground starts to become noticeably wetter, suggesting that I have reached my goal, the largest river in China. If I keep the dirt and rock behind me compacted, I think I should be able to break into the river from below without being noticed, and without doing any real damage to the channel. After all, it's not the river's fault its government is stupid.
When I get to the bedrock layer, I try a few experiments. In the end, I conclude that using my finger as a knife and cutting large chunks of rock works best. Perez is right. She is always right. Why didn't I think about what I wanted? Heat vision would have been perfect here.
So I stick my finger (I use my middle finger to make a political commentary no one but me will ever get) into the rock, run it around, slice it through, remove some rock, and move it to my feet, where I tamp in down into place. Finally, my finger hits water, and I simply push upward, water splashing down on me, light following. I am in the river, and it's still daylight.
