With These Eyes (7 page)

Inside the cement mixer's barrel, Tasha's
eyes were on a map. It showed locations of each of the cars in her
platoon and Isabelle's, triangulated from their cell phones. The
map also displayed the traffic signals' current colors at
intersections around the unusual convoy. One of the Troopers by
Tasha's side was facing a smaller version of the map-display in his
console. He brushed his hand along the street on which Isabelle was
traveling. The traffic lights began to change. The map showed
regular traffic's blue icons being redirected from Isabelle in
every direction. Only the young journalist's red icon and her
pursuers' yellow ones would occupy a one-mile radius. Like
plow-sheers, Tasha's platoon and their special package cut through
the blue field of traffic.

Tasha's cement mixer and her Troopers' cars
were the only traffic Isabelle encountered. The platoon's vehicles
each would drive either in front, next to or behind Isabelle. After
a few blocks, Troopers would turn off to the left or right. Since
no other traffic was let into the area, Tasha's drivers could
easily speed to the front of the convoy on side streets and be
waiting there to rejoin Isabelle's journey. Most people did not pay
enough attention to their surroundings to notice that the seemingly
nondescript cars along the way were all the same. This method of
surveillance assured that the person they followed would not be
able to make contact with anyone the team did not know or permit.
If Isabelle was going to think she was in trouble, any stranger
she'd approach for help would be a Trooper. She would be unable to
leak out whatever it was that Gene worked so desperately to
protect.

Isabelle drove a few blocks. The journalist
in her was usually looking at the world with critical eyes. This
afternoon, her mind was mostly looking for the reason she was
locked out from the Internet. Even the screens in her car remained
blank. This lack of data and imagery usually projected on
Isabelle’s windshield gave her eyes a rare opportunity. Her mind
sought out information and stimuli in traffic and the surroundings
as she moved down the streets of Los Angeles. Isabelle rarely
relied on her car's navigation system. She had developed a sense
for finding shortcuts around traffic that generally clogged up the
city's main roadways. This day, however, was different. This was no
ordinary way for traffic in Los Angeles to behave.

Isabelle noticed the wave of traffic that
parted a mile in every direction she looked - even side streets. It
was as if she traveled in a bubble, except there were some other
cars in her bubble of empty streets. Like a school of fish, they
grouped around her, cutting in and out of Isabelle's line of
travel. Tasha's Troopers were in complete control of traffic.
Oncoming traffic gushed by in waves too fast for interaction.
Isabelle was to Tasha like a dolphin in an ocean of salt-water
piranhas.

Isabelle made an abrupt left turn into a side
street. This forced an oncoming Trooper to slam on his breaks. The
covert car overshot the intersection and, unseen by Isabelle,
quickly turned down the following side street. The Troopers
immediately behind Isabelle drove on. Several of the cars further
behind turned where Isabelle had made her left. Isabelle reached
Pico Boulevard, the next major eastbound road. Pico was like many
streets in Los Angeles: A dual turn lane marked by yellow stripes
divided a roadway with two lanes of travel for each direction.
During times when commuters would flock to the city's roads, the
curb lane would become tow-away and offer a very bumpy third lane
of travel for each direction.

It was rush hour, yet the street seemed
eerily deserted on both sides. Isabelle turned right at the light
that Tasha had turned red. Tasha's cement mixer thundered down one
of the empty side streets to catch up with Isabelle. Isabelle was
alone on Pico Boulevard when just a few car lengths in front of
her, Tasha's enormous blue and purple cement mixer shot out of a
cross-street and with its tires screeching, made a turn into the
second lane.

Isabelle looked to her left and saw the
cement mixer barreling along next to her. A trail of black smoke
billowed into the air. Isabelle sped up and shook off the
heavily-laboring truck. Soon the rest of the platoon had caught up
with her. The swarm of Troopers once again had surrounded Isabelle.
Her work as an investigative journalist had caused her to be
followed before, but she had never seen an effort on this scale.
There has been a car or two in the past, but her previous tails
were relatively easy to lose. Her past pursuers never had control
over traffic like this. It wasn't unusual in Los Angeles to pass by
police every major city block or so, but Isabelle hadn't seen a
single black and white cruiser on this drive. Isabelle knew this
was big, but she had no idea of the wealth of Tasha's
resources.

There weren't many acquaintances in her life
whom Isabelle could trust in a situation like this. Most people had
great loyalty for the Apophis Corporation. Many identified part of
their personalities with the products they bought. The general
sentiment towards Apophis was thus a positive one. Most thought of
someone who spoke out against Apophis and their doings as someone
who had attacked them personally. Even many of Isabelle's friends
would have found it suspicious that she was being followed like
this. Gene had the general population trained to see a terrorist in
everyone. The fear of terror was a great tool for Gene. It was more
powerful than any of the outlandish weapons Gene had created.
Without fear, the people never would have permitted such atrocities
as war and starvation of the poor. Isabelle knew that humanity's
potential lied elsewhere, but an elitist few have managed to keep
the world in a continuous state of war and suffering to maintain
their positions of wealth and power. A call to the wrong person or
let alone to the police surely would have gotten her arrested as a
suspected terrorist. That would have lead to a quick end since
terror suspects no longer had the protection once offered to the
people by the Constitution. New laws permitted all
non-lethal
interrogation methods
which were routinely outsourced to AGC.
This abbreviation stood for
Apophis Guaranteed Confessions
,
a firm that had a 100% success record of proving a prisoner guilty.
Many of the interrogated wound up missing limbs, motor function or
organs, all necessary
as permitted to extract confessions
by
AGC's contract with most major police agencies.

There was one person Isabelle knew she could
trust. His name was Fuji Satori. Isabelle had known Fuji as long as
she could remember. He had been there after Isabelle's mother Gemma
perished in the firestorm that destroyed her jungle village. For
years, Fuji had been teaching Isabelle the ways of enlightenment.
Fuji practiced Buddhism, which was most apparent in the fact that
he would sit and chant twice a day. He would generally do so for
about an hour when the light changed from night or day. He had been
teaching Isabelle that there was more to life than appeared to
most. Engulfed in a swarm of Tasha's Troopers, Isabelle gave a few
voice commands and the car's speaker phone was dialing Fuji's
number. The call appeared on a screen in Tasha's rolling command
post. Quickly, the Trooper at her side announced to Tasha, "Ma'am,
package is attempting a call to one Fuji Satori." A history of
calls between Isabelle and Fuji filled another screen in the
console.

"Let it through," barked Tasha in her
militaristically-booming tone. The Trooper struck a key and the
screen showed Isabelle's call continue on to Fuji's line.

Fuji Satori's house was situated on a large
estate, well-hidden from the view of passersby. Clad in thicket and
trees, his home presented a fairly unassuming look from the street.
Fuji was in his living room, seemingly praying before a mouse when
Isabelle's call rang in on the phone. His single-story home
stretched across a good portion of the sizable property. In the
back, a Japanese garden defined the yard. The garden was
brilliantly beautiful. A creek cut across the
meticulously-landscaped garden. A gravel pathway lead across to a
small waterfall.

Inside, the large house was rather Spartan in
its decor yet elegantly furnished. Sporadic native art from
virtually every culture made it obvious Fuji was a worldly man. The
lack of television and computer screens that littered most homes in
the area set his apart in an auspicious way. Fuji had finished his
prayer. It was becoming clear that he wasn't praying to the mouse.
He was praying for it. With the phone ringing in the background, he
lifted the rodent by its tail and placed it in a large terrarium.
The glass tank was home to Fuji's python. Fuji finally turned his
attention to the phone. He picked up the receiver and listened
without saying a word. Isabelle had gotten used to his
eccentricities over the years and liked the opportunity to begin
the conversation.

"Fuji, it's me. Someone's been following me
since I left work. They're not as easy to shake as the last few
times."

Fuji calmly responded, "So come by here.
Whoever they are they're going to have to wait outside."

"I hope they know that."

"There is such a thing as law and order."

Isabelle contemplated the value of that
statement for a brief moment. She made an abrupt right turn into a
street followed by a left. Moments later, she found herself behind
the blue beat-up car from Tasha's sinister platoon. The
smoke-spewing hatchback swerved into the middle of the road. It
moved along slowly, forcing Isabelle to slow down drastically. The
Troopers made good use of their obstacle car's maneuver and were
now closing in on Isabelle from all directions.

Inside the cement mixer, Tasha was getting
ready to attack. "Purple team, she’s in the alley. Cut her off!"
The concave screen displayed the map in a very prominent size.
Yellow icons were converging on the one in red - Isabelle. Tasha
was keeping an eye on the close-up from Isabelle's hidden
car-camera. She could see that Isabelle noticed her Troopers in the
rear-view mirror.

In her car, Isabelle returned her attention
to the road ahead. She recognized several of the platoon's cars
from earlier closing in from various directions. She had watched
packs of hyenas hunt in the wild before and noticed her pursuers
were following the same pattern. Prey was one thing Isabelle would
never become. It was clear to her now that the blue car wasn't just
a motorist breaking down. Isabelle was an excellent driver. In her
career, she had driven on many obstacle and training courses for
special forces and police. Some were part of investigative reports,
some as favors from friends. Everyone in her social circle knew how
much Isabelle loved to drive. She had successfully outmaneuvered
and lost all her tails in the past. To Isabelle, being followed was
a sign that she was getting somewhere with a story. In this
respect, her confidence was strengthened by the presence of Tasha's
Troopers. The extent of their resources made it clear to Isabelle,
though, that she was facing an opponent of unprecedented
proportions.

The signal ahead turned red. Isabelle could
see traffic approaching the intersection from all directions. She
didn't slow down for the stoplight. If her hunch was right, she
wouldn't have to. Sure enough, the cars approaching on either side
of her intersection skidded to a halt, Isabelle's car gliding
through the center undisturbed. Tasha's Troopers stayed in pursuit
of Isabelle, no matter what she tried. It was clear to her that
this was one tail she wouldn't shake simply with skilled driving.
Something bigger was needed. It wouldn’t take much longer for
Isabelle to get to Fuji’s. A turn on Fairfax, one of L.A.'s major
north-south connectors, and she was just a few miles from her
friend. Soon, she approached famous Venice Boulevard, the road that
lead to the popular beach. Just before the intersection, Isabelle
recognized a couple of the Troopers' cars outside Fuji's driveway.
Other members of the ominous pack were still swarming around her
car. Isabelle made a quick left into Fuji's property. She passed
the hedge of bushes and trees.

Just as Fuji had said, Isabelle’s pursuers
stayed outside.

10 THE MENTOR AND HIS DISCIPLE

Fuji's long driveway was flanked by tall oak
trees. Isabelle felt safe. Light-green leaves where budding on
branches otherwise barren from the winter. She drove up the
driveway along the oaks. An occasional mulberry tree on the
property was showing its spring foliage. The trees lead her to the
front of Fuji's house and his open garage. Isabelle drove right in.
A push of the
number two
button on her car's universal
remote closed the gate behind her. Isabelle turned off the
ignition. She glanced at Fuji leaning against the garage's doorway,
arms crossed. Isabelle rushed past him into the house.

Fuji loudly cleared his throat. "Your
shoes?"

"I've never come across anything like this!"
proclaimed Isabelle while pushing her sneakers off without untying
them. Fuji didn't seem to be moved very much by her grippingly
animated statement. She continued as they walked into the kitchen.
"They were controlling traffic and there wasn't a single cop car in
sight my entire trip."

Fuji poured her a cup of tea, which he had
brewed in anticipation of his friend's arrival. "It's just ready
now."

Isabelle added cream and sugar, then took a
careful sip of the lightly steaming beverage. The warmth of the
liquid radiated from the center of her body. A calming sense of
relief filled her throughout. Isabelle closed her eyes and with a
deep breath, she took in the soothing energy that flowed from
Fuji's mere presence. Isabelle’s friend allowed her to relax while
they enjoyed their tea at the kitchen table. After they had
finished, Fuji placed the empty cups in the sink and invited
Isabelle to join him on a walk in his garden.