Читать книгу Brother's Keeper - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 5

2458 Olivera Villa Apartments

Concord, California

Jason sat at his small dining room table and looked about the room. Everything was in perfect order. His personal and household belongings were already neatly packed in boxes and awaiting transport to the closest Goodwill or dumpster. He knew Mr. Sebastiani would pick through them first, pulling out his electronics to keep for himself or his kids. Jason didn’t give a shit. The rooms were cleaned, and the kitchen and bathroom scrubbed down.

He looked at the kitchen bar counter where a stack of envelopes sat crisply. All his utility, cell phone, Internet and cable bills were paid up to the end of the month, and he would drop them in the outgoing slot when he checked his mailbox one last time. He was expecting a letter and hoped it would arrive before he departed. Next to that stack of bills was a manila office envelope with his landlord’s name on it. Within was the final month’s rent, in cash, with an extra thousand dollars for the clean up to come. A small note was tucked inside.

Mr. Sebastiani, I’m sorry for the mess I’ve left you. Use my deposit and this extra cash to cover the new paint and carpet. I really enjoyed staying here. Jason.

His eyes moved further down the counter to another small group of items that the police would need when his body was discovered. His driver’s license, social security card, an official copy of his birth certificate, and his passport sat on a small piece of parchment:

Dear Concord Police Department: I have no living relatives. Please simply cremate my remains. After that, I really don’t care.

Earlier, he decided that he would leave the front door cracked open slightly so a fellow tenant, or Mr. Sebastiani himself could easily gain entry once they heard the bang. For the first time in his life, he considered with dark satisfaction that his house was in order. He turned to the table and surveyed what was in front of him: a take-out menu for Szechuan Village Chinese restaurant; a newly opened bottle of Hennessy XO with shot glass; his cell phone, the TV remote and his Glock. He had called in his order for food 20 minutes ago, so being lunch hour, he expected it to come late. He poured himself a shot while he turned on the TV for the last time.

What the hell, he reasoned; the food won’t be here for another half-hour anyway. He went straight to his favorite program, the History Channel, and was instantly pleased to see a part of his life that he had left behind. “Wings Of Tomorrow,” his favorite military documentary series was on, and the F-1 Cyclone stealth fighter was the episode’s focus. He downed the shot, picked up the bottle, moved to the couch and put his feet on the coffee table.

Jordan’s plane. He checked the time on the screen and cursed to himself that he had already missed half of the one-hour episode.

“. . .And to this day, the speed, ceiling and mission of the Cyclone is classified by the Department of Defense. Industry officials were free to release the average speed of the plane as Mach 3.8, which makes it the fastest on Earth; however, there are rumors that the engine technology designed by WEPS can put the plane upwards of Mach 4 or 5. But no one, save the pilots, designers and builders themselves will ever know.

“Sales and exports of the F-1 are prohibited by Congressional law even to our closest allies. But it’s not to say that other nations haven’t tried to find out, and have even used clandestine means to possess its secrets. Just last year, seven Lockheed-Martin employees involved in the jet’s production plant were convicted of conspiracy to sell trade secrets, blueprints, and samples of the plane’s composite materials to China. The men were sentenced to 15 years in federal prison without parole.

“China is by far the biggest solicitor of information concerning the F-1. One Pentagon official stated that if China were to incorporate the F-1’s abilities and power plant into their own stealth fighter program, it would shift the balance of air superiority in the world.”

Jason downed another shot.

“It’s just a matter of time,” he spat. “You can’t keep secrets from the Chinese; they have too much money. Sooner or later, for the right price, someone is going to just hand them the fucking plane. There’s no such thing as national loyalty anymore; that shit’s out of style. It’s all about money.”

“Amazingly, the Navy has a near perfect safety record with the Cyclone; in fact, in the last four years since its maiden flight, only one plane has suffered a casualty. And in that casualty an American hero was lost.

“No,” Jason breathed pleadingly. “No, no, no! Don’t make me watch this.” He reached for the remote but just couldn’t turn it off.

“That tragedy occurred just three years ago when a squadron of F-1s from the carrier USS George Washington was on patrol north of Taiwan in the East China Sea. It was at night and in stormy conditions when a freak lightning bolt hit one of the five F-1s. The plane exploded instantly at 55,000 feet. The escalating lightning storm caused the group to disperse and head back to the carrier.

“This incident shocked the U.S. Navy and the country when the pilot was identified as Lieutenant Jordan Li, the world’s only modern combat ace, who in his first year serving in the Iranian War, shot down no less than 12 Iranian fighters. He also destroyed countless strategic positions and had a 97 percent success rate on bombing missions.”

“NO!!! WHY DO I HAVE TO SEE THIS!?” Jason jumped to his feet, winding back his arm as if to hurl the shot glass at the TV. Then a photo of his brother flashed on the screen. He was wearing his flight suit, holding his helmet and smiling from a Navy F-35C cockpit. Jordan’s slicked-back hair, sharply chiseled face and almond-cut Asian eyes was displayed in several Navy file photos, yet they looked more like modeling shots. Jason dropped down to the sofa from weakened legs, his tears spilling forth.

“How can this be on right now?” he whimpered, pressed within the torment that he had long suppressed.

“Lieutenant Li was already a superstar in the naval aviation community when his plane was struck down that tragic night. The Navy and the nation lost a proven hero. He was only 26.” The segment pulled to commercial with Jordan’s face gradually fading out. Jason turned off the TV and put both hands to his quivering face. He lied full out on the couch as the anguish poured over him like hot sand.

Jordan Li was not only his brother, but his childhood guardian, high school protector, and college mentor. Four years older, Jordan had to be a man at a very early age. After the death of their parents when they were in elementary school, Jordan helped raise him with 60-year-old Uncle Yu, their father’s brother and only blood relative in the Bay Area.

When the boys moved in with their uncle in Richmond, it was Jordan who acted as their second father. His sense of responsibility, justice, and temperance guided Jason through the years, protecting him, nurturing him, and making him strong and independent. They promised to never leave each other throughout life; it was a promise so strong that Jason tried to emulate as much of his brother as he could.

Following in Jordan’s footsteps to UC Berkeley, Jason graduated with honors in computer engineering and joined the Navy, while Jordan was already a rising star as a navy aviator cadet. After scoring nearly perfect on his Aviation Selection Test Battery, Jason entered the naval pilot pipeline, hoping to be stationed with Jordan and fly missions together from the same aircraft carrier.

As he began the arduous 48 months of Naval Aviator Cadet training, Jordan was already making a name for himself in the fleet. In his first two years as an F-35C Lightning III combat pilot, Jordan’s magnificence in the Gulf of Oman was noticed early. Stationed onboard the USS Abraham Lincoln in only his second mission, his three-plane detachment was jumped by a squadron of seven Iranian Sukhoi Su-30 Flanker fighters. He shot down two planes and forced a third to ditch in the gulf.

On his third mission against Iranian ground targets, he destroyed two Flankers and completed his ground support bomb drop, crippling a supply depot. On his sixth mission, he shot down his fifth plane, making him the only combat ace in modern times; and by his tenth sortie, he had shot down nine enemy planes, maximizing the F-35’s cutting-edge sensors and WEPS-designed air-to-air missiles. Jordan Li was already a legend at the age of 26, and nothing could have thrilled and enthralled his younger brother more.

During that same year, Jason had completed his qualifications in carrier take-off and landings as part of the Carrier Training Wing, aboard the USS Nimitz off San Diego. Like his brother, Jason completed all of his aviation training at or near the top of his class, earning glowing evaluations from the staff of Naval Air Training Command, who gave similar marks to Jordan just three years prior. Jason transitioned into the 23-week Advanced Strike pipeline, which would secure his spot in an F-35C fighter. His dream to join his brother in the fleet was coming to fruition.

But that all changed when at the latter part of his second year of carrier duty, Jordan was recruited by then DSC head canvasser Commander Rudy Miller. He was given the chance to train in the new F1 Cyclone stealth fighter, and join the ultra secret Black Crow Squadron. At the end of Advance Strike training, Jason received orders to Naval Air Station, Lemoore, California, home of VFA-122-the Fleet Replacement Squadron (FRS) where he would begin training and mastering the F-35C. It was the same FRS that trained Jordan, and the command treated Jason as if he was the brother of a celebrity.

As his training on the newly modified F-35 continued, contact between the two brothers grew more and more infrequent. On one phone call, Jordan said that the security surrounding his training was so tight, that he had to delete his Facebook, Twitter and e-mail accounts, as the Navy warned that these sites were constantly monitored by cyber squads looking for information that could be useful to enemy analysts.

DOD scientists, commanding officers, and aviators were heavily targeted, so they communicated via cell phone exclusively. It didn’t take long before the calls and the texts by Jordan began to dwindle. Jason realized that his brother was flying combat and national security missions, and had neither the time, nor the privacy to engage in the social habits of earlier years. This left Jason to find his own life and professional circle among his fellow aviators. Unknowingly to him, his elder brother was learning and perfecting the dark dynamics of black ops missions from the sky.

Jason blinked hard. He sat up and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. He reached for the bottle and simply raised it to his lips, taking a long swig, remembering when they told him the news.

“Son,” started Commander Leon Guerrero, full of remorse; “There’s been an accident.” It took only two sentences by his squadron commander to throw Jason into a screaming, crying spasm. Three fellow officers had to restrain him as he howled, wheezing with tears and disbelief.

“HE CAN’T BE DEAD! HE CAN’T BE DEAD! HE CAN’T BE DEAD!!!”

The echo of his frantic voice woke him from his dark stupor. He took another swig from the bottle.

“He’s dead; Uncle Yu is dead; my parents are dead.” Another swig. “Time to close the circle.” He went back to the small kitchen table and put down the bottle just as the doorbell rang.

“The Last Supper,” he whispered dryly. He took the money he already prepared for the delivery and went to the door. An Asian teenage boy with glasses, holding two plastic bags of Styrofoam containers smiled dutifully at him.

“Jason Li?” he asked glancing at the order ticket.

“That’s right.”

“Szechuan Village. Ah, let’s see; Kung Pao chicken, jumbo walnut shrimp, lobster in garlic sauce, Mongolian beef, scallops in Szechuan sauce, and extra rice. You must be hungry.” The boy smiled.

“It’s a special meal. How much do I owe you?” Jason took the plastic bags and opened the roll of bills in his hand.

“That will be $43.55.” The boy raised his head and saw Jason staring at him curiously.

“You’re a little young to be working, aren’t you?”

“I’m 15. I’m trying to save up for the mathematics camp this summer at Chico. I need to improve my math scores so I can try to get a scholarship for college.”

“Mathematics camp?” Jason asked as he took $100 from the roll, intending to give the boy a sizable tip. “What’s that?”

“It’s a week-long camp of heavy math training; pre-calc, trig, AP math, stuff like that. Six hours a day.”

“For a week?”

“Five days. We sleep there, get meals, play sports; and on the last day we have a Mathematics Olympics.”

“How much is the camp?”

“Three hundred dollars.”

“Can’t your dad pay for that?”

“He died two years ago. My mom’s working two jobs, but she can’t afford the camp, so I’m working. I try to help her out.”

“Where does she work?”

“She’s a waitress at two restaurants. La Tapatia on Willow Pass, and Szechuan Village, just down the road.”

Jason considered the boy’s forthright expression; resolute and noble. There was an intensity about him; in his eyes shown an innocent determination. Without a father, he obviously was forced to grow up fast. . .just like Jordan.

“She gave me a choice between a used smart tablet or the camp. I’m a little weak in math, so I chose the camp.”

“Smart choice. Is your mom working now?”

“Yes, but she’s on her lunch break. She’s actually parked in front of your complex waiting for me.” The boy turned and pointed towards the gated parking area. “That beat-up Nissan!” he laughed. Jason looked out and noticed a woman sitting inside.

“What’s your name?”

“Danilo Bantilan.”

“You’re Filipino.” Danilo smiled and nodded. “Okay, Danilo, go and tell your mother I want to talk to her.” The boy suddenly took alarm. But Jason shook his head. “Don’t worry, just tell her I want to talk to her.” He put the money back into the roll. “I’ll pay you after I’ve talked with her.”

The boy smirked and left for the car. Jason left the door open but went back inside. After finding what he was looking for, he came back to the front door to see Danilo and a slim Filipina in her mid-30s, wearing the Szechuan Village over-alls skirt and nametag. She smiled at him nervously.

“Hello, Mrs. Bantilan; my name is Jason.”

“Is there something wrong with the food?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Was my son disrespectful?”

Jason was held in pause by the woman’s humble and heartfelt deference. In a society choked with a generation of self-centered, narcissistic and indifferent youth, bought and appeased by their emotionally detached parents, Jason never expected to hear such a rare and honorable question. He couldn’t help feel even more at ease in what he was about to do to himself, once they’d left.

“No, ma’am; he wasn’t. In fact, it was a pleasure talking to him.” The woman smiled and looked at her son.

“I’m trying to raise him right. It’s difficult as a single mother.”

Jason nodded with complete understanding.

“I understand he would like to go to math camp?”

“Yes, that’s why he works after school and on weekends,” she confirmed. “He needs so many things for his life: laptop, cell phone, shoes-but it’s hard because I’m the only one working.”

“I understand, ma’am.” He looked at the boy. “Here, Danilo. This is for you.” Jason handed him an envelope. “You’re going to math camp.”

“What?” He opened the envelope to find three $100 bills inside. “Oh my God!” His face lit up with bulging eyes and a wide smile. “Oh my God! Thank you!”

“No, no, Mr. Jason!” His mother interrupted. “Thank you, but you cannot do this. He needs to earn it. He needs to work hard for things.” She took the envelope from the boy’s hands and handed it back. Jason put his hands up in refusal.

“Your boy shouldn’t be working after school or on weekends. He should be enjoying his life and family.” The image of Jordan flashed before his eyes. “Because when he becomes an adult, when the world demands so much of him, he will think about the youth he left behind and regret that it’s lost.” He fought back tears threatening to surface. He took a breath and continued.

“I’m sorry for the loss of your husband, Mrs. Bantilan. I lost my parents, my brother and the uncle who raised me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she answered with regret. Jason’s tears now spilled down his cheeks.

“That’s why I’m happy to help your son.” He turned to the boy whose eyes were held downward in humble remorse. “This is for math camp, Danilo. Take it.” The boy raised his head and looked at his mother, whose eyes were now moistened by her own tears. She nodded and he slowly took the envelope.

“And this is for you, Mrs. Bantilan.” He handed her an envelope, and when she opened it, she shook her head and again handed it back.

“No, Mr. Jason! I can’t take this! Five thousand dollars!? I can’t take this from you!” He gently pushed the envelope back.

“I want you to have it.”

“But why?” She was now in tears.

“Because where I’m going, I won’t need it.” The answer seemed oddly apropos after he said it.

“Where are you going?”

I’m going to commit suicide. This was the answer that entered his mind, but never reached his lips.

“I’m going to Iran,” he lied. “I’m joining the service to fight in the Iran War. You can see I’m leaving.” He stepped out of the doorway so both could see the stacks of boxes in the living room.

“When?” Danilo asked.

“Today. I’m just waiting for the movers.” He turned away and stepped into the living room. “Wait one sec.” He returned to the door with an opened box. “Here Danilo, I believe you can use these.” He pulled out a flat box from the larger one.

“Oh my God!” the boy exhaled as he looked at the product information and photos on the box. “Look, Mom!”

“It’s the latest Apple iPad. You’ll need it for school and travel. Here’s a Sony Vaio laptop, practically new. This will last you through college.”

“Oh my God! Mom! A tablet AND a laptop! Thank you, Jason! Thank you so much!” Jason nodded and handed him another item the size of his hand.

“Here’s my Samsung Android smart phone. It’s yours. The latest 4G model with all the apps included. Just take it to the mall to get it activated. All the paperwork and recharger is in this box; here, put all your stuff in it.” As the boy looked over the electronic treasures he’d just received, Jason beheld the grateful, weeping woman once more.

“I must go now, Mrs. Bantilan. Just by my short talk with Danilo, I can see that you are a good mother. Your son is an exceptional boy. He has an exceptional character. He won’t let you down, right Danilo?”

“I won’t!” He looked at his mom and kissed her. “I’ve already promised you.”

“I know he will succeed.” The woman stepped forward and hugged Jason, then stepped back. Danilo put down the box of gifts and hugged him, too. Jason closed his eyes and imagined Jordan in his arms.

The final embrace of my life.

When they stepped back, all three had to wipe the tears from their eyes. Jason smiled approvingly, satisfied that he had given at least one person in the world, hope and joy.

“Here’s the money for the food. There’s something extra in there for you, Danilo.” The boy took out the two $50 bills, replaced one in the envelope and gave the other to his mother.

“I always give my tips to my mom.”

Jason pursed his lips before they began to tremble. This boy’s devotion was unreal, reminding him of his own to a family that was all but snuffed out of his life. He sniffed hard and nodded.

“That’s good, Danilo. Take care of your mother. Always.”

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Jason.” The woman was still misty-eyed as she put her hand on his shoulder. “Come find us when you come back from the war. You are welcomed in our house.”

When the Bantilans drove out of the parking lot, Jason felt a calm satisfaction. He will have done something charitable, an act of kindness and mercy from deep within his heart before ending his life. What’s more is that it was spontaneous, almost natural. To give the boy all those things and not leave them to Mr. Sebastiani was, alone, gratifying.

Jason was not a religious man by any stretch, but he did have his own remote imaginings of what might or could happen once death claimed a person. He wasn’t afraid of dying. He surmised that only people with something to lose, like family, wealth or power, feared death the most because they couldn’t take any of it with them.

But since he had none of these things, he didn’t need to fear it. He relied on the traditional Asian mentality that death was just another chapter of life, a new phase of existence. He wouldn’t really be dead-just exist, and even function-in another place, in another time, surrounded by other, well, dead people.

He believed that this realm had levels, stages and tiers from which the soul could evolve from and ascend to. Although Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory were Christian locations, all were in every sense, part of every religion’s atlas of the world of the deceased. The roadmap of the dead, he believed, could be navigated, even charted, leading to higher levels of redemption through how one behaved while on the road.

Hell had many levels of despair, pain and anguish, he surmised; but someone could eventually work his way out of a level and ascend to the next one. Horrifying challenges, arduous tasks and formidable tests would have to be endured and passed in order to move forward and upward, to the goal or level one held most dear.

Jason’s goal was to go to his parents and his brother. As a suicide, he knew he would have to endure a long period of painful struggles in the lower existences of Hell. Still, he was not afraid.

He believed in the basic concepts of Karma, the checks and balances of the universe. He had done his best to be a good person throughout his short life, considering the hand he’d been dealt. This pure and innocent episode with the Bantilans may have helped his cause. He thought that perhaps, just perhaps, this last act of humility might score a couple of extra points to put him on the favorable side of the cosmic ranking system and forces that awaited him. He would soon see. He pulled back into the doorway and closed the door. He headed for the table and his final destiny.

Jason Li would soon pull the trigger, and find out exactly where he ranked in the universe.