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The shift supervisor in the government processing Center keyed the short-wave radio. The transmission had been easy to understand and high digital clarity.
“Proceed, you ‘ave reached the Austrylian Immigration Detention Center, moight Oi help you, miate? Ovah.”
“Yeah, where the hell are we?” The voice sounded as a Texan Cowboy, kinda Quigley Down Under, thought the super.
“Well, ‘ell, you don’t ‘ave to swear, miate. Oi am on Christmas Oiland, and I ‘aven’t a clue where you moight be.”
“I’m on some kind of island, too, listen,” came the voice of an excited Mother Tucker. “Could you make a regular phone call to Provo, Utah for me, in the USofA, over this radio system we have? I’m lost in a mag field; this is extreme emergency, a life and death issue. Just call Lucas Jensen, wait, my cell might be workin’ now, hold on—yeee-haw, this thing has power. Let me check contacts...here it is 80l-993-3362, please call it. I have to talk to Luke...”
“I’ll troi mayte but that’s international long distance, could get me in a peck of trouble.”
The men had gathered around Tucker with hardly a breath. They waited for what seemed a long time for a connection. They heard a tired voice say, “Hello, do you know what time it is?” Followed a second later by, “No, Oi’m calling for a friend of yours, who is lost. You will need to spyake with ‘im via short wyave,” Go ayead, miate, ave yer siay. Ovah.”
Mother Tucker was hardly able to breathe. “Luke, Luke, this is Mother Tucker, you remember me, the foul mouth cowboy who helped you’n DRT in Me-heeco.” Don’t hang up, son, I’m alive...need you.”
The wary voice of Lucas Jensen still sounded half asleep. “Look, it’s the middle of the night. I don’t know who you are, but Wade Tucker died three years ago in the Bahamas, so what game are you playing?” He heard Katrina moan a little and mumble, “Good grief. You’ll wake up Maddy.” Luke climbed out of bed and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door.
“No, no, it’s me,” yelled Tucker, “I didn’t die. I’ve been trapped in magnetic vile vortices, or time warp or pulsar beams, with six other guys. We need you to get us out of this thing, this is me.”
“Yeah. Beam me up, Scotty. I don’t have time to listen to this crazy story, fella.” Hack said.
Tucker tried a different approach, “I put you and yer little honey up at Kanab fer yer honeymoon, remember a suite—sound proof at, you know, the Hollywood place, where all the actors stayed. Uh, Parry’s...Parry’s Lodge. It’s really me, Luke. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin.”
Hack Jensen’s voice was animated now. “You sound as if you know about Tucker and us. What is Dirty’s real name?”
“Yer best bud, some dinosaur bible name, he is really Ho Tanner.”
“Who’s his friend on the Res?”
“Aw, hell, easy, peasy, that’d be ol’ Smokey Joe. I introduced that cuss to y’all. Now listen up, Dynomite.” That did it, he has to be Mother Lode; no one called me that anymore. I’m Hack to everybody now. “We are stuck in a beam of energy, yanking us all over the earth. We have been in Bimini, the Amazon, back at Pequis Canyon, down in the bottom, and somewhere in Gookville, it was as déjà vu, the Mekong when I was in Nam and I guess Christmas Island...somewhere south of the equator around Australia and a bunch of other places. We get sent high speed to crazy landings. You got to figure this out, Luke. You are a brainy kid, please; there are seven of us needin’ rescued from this energy anomaly...over.
“If you really are Mother Lode, and that is a big if; this is the craziest thing I have ever heard, over.”
“Crazy as Ho finding the Black Mariachi; the whole damn thing about the Big Dipper was crazy, everything has been crazy since I met you fellas. Figure this out. We are counting on you...”
The Center’s supervisor broke in. “Listen guys, I ‘ave a call on the myain loin...gotta tiake it, miates. Short wiave Zulu 9622 soinin’ off.” The silence was so loud. All the castaways looked at each other; afraid there was not enough said to get anyone to believe them. Walter Heil broke the silence.
“That contact just verified some of your story but how can this man, Luke, or Dynamite, help us? We can’t even help ourselves.” The Navy pilots and the Cuban just nodded and stared at the radio. Did Tucker really just use that rusty mass of wires and bulbs to tell someone about the plight we are in?
“One thing I learned,” Tucker responded, “it’s been three years since I got here, so it’s 2015 in the regular world and I feel as if I’ve only been here a week or so; an’ nuther thing, that makes all yer stories check out. Fellas, we are in some deep doodoo here and we’re all older than we think we are.” The men sat stunned, attempting to absorb their current reality. Two of them didn’t care about the radio transmission or that the group was leaving on the next jump to somewhere.
“Señor, there is a man on line 4; he claims you are friends and it is urgent. The name he gave me was Moose. Do you have a friend called Moose? The desk secretary at National Security Headquarters in Mexico looked dubious.
“I’ll take it,” answered the commandant, ‘this is Victor, Moose Drummond?”
The voice on the intercom was strained and tense. “Yes, it’s Moose. I’m in Hawaii. How soon can you get here? It’s Ho. A Japanese conglomerate has abducted him. They have made corporate demands on MJD, our Board of Directors has complied and sent Makaewalani to trade the stock and ownership to this group; Tanaka Resources. I just e-mailed a list they demanded from our Board of Directors. If Makaewalani gets him peaceably, that’s good, but, if they have a different game plan, will you bring some muscle. I assume Estaban Ramos still works for you.”
“Meet me at the Diamond Head Business Lounge in five hours...keep me informed, Moose. Where should I file flight plans?” asked Victor Velasquez. He was thinking ahead of the international complications but Ho was one of theirs and nobody on earth would be allowed to detain him. He loved Señor Ramos as a father cares for his son.
“We’ll start in Chiang Saen, northern Thailand. I know some local people. We can count on them for ordnance and transportation,” Moose offered.
“Been awhile since the New Year’s party in Caracas. It’ll be good to see you, Moose. You still with that little Eskimo fireball?” Victor asked.
“Athabascan, actually, and yes, more in love than ever.”
“You might ask her to give the UNESCO guys a ‘heads up’. This could get politically sticky.” Victor was sure wherever big money was involved, there would also be crooked government. He understood the elements of corruption better than most men and he knew a little pressure, or cash, in the right places could never hurt. This might take a lot of each.
“Will do, double V,” said Moose, “see you in Honolulu; 3 o’clock this afternoon, local.” As he hung up the line, Victor pushed his intercom.
“Carmen, will you get me the DEA office in Southeast Asia?”