23 The Kiosk

 

Point Roberts WA. Jul 23. 2033

48°59'18.178" N 123°3'24.729" W

 

The Point Roberts border station looked more like a glorified fast food drive-thru then a high security office. The small brick building was unremarkable, with nothing but a pair of sliding windows; one on each side of the border’s line. An impound yard was situated across the road, girded with chain-link and barbed wire. A rusty, twenty-year old Prius sat drunkenly on its three good tires, neglected to the point that no owner would care enough to try and win it back. Signs were posted along the lane that lead to the station, bearing verbiage that warned of dire consequences if rules were not obeyed—as if the mere presence of such imposing threats might bolster the importance of such an unimpressive building.

Indeed, the presence of an HSA border station for such a tiny piece of territory; barely five-square miles of Canada’s coastline that dipped beneath the 49th parallel, seemed somewhat frivolous, if not for the extreme price differences between US and Canadian goods. Citizens of Vancouver drove forty-five-kilometers weekly to fill their tanks and stuff their trunks with groceries and alcohol. The town was almost entirely comprised of markets, petrol stations and pull-tab bars. To the untrained eye, HighTower staff at the Point Roberts land-border served more as inspectors to catch duty-tax dodgers than as a force against smugglers. HSA reserved their state-of-art scanning devices and higher ranking agents for the southern crossings and the international waters. …At least, that was what Douglas and Biyu were counting on.

Biyu squirmed in her seat and cleared her throat. She watched the cars ahead stop and converse with the HSA agent, then accelerate as they were waved away. She felt her pulse quicken as each vehicle pulled forward, bringing their car closer to her own interaction with the official. The vintage manual-operator model that they were driving belonged to Douglas’ mother. It seldom left her driveway and was “clean” as far as citations or border crossings. Biyu had helped Douglas line the trunk with aluminum and copper sheets, replacing the layer of carpeting over the top. Their new computers and server that they brought with them were concealed inside a microwave oven and flat screen monitor box—all designed to look like wedding presents. She nervously tugged at her jacket and ran her fingers over the site of her freshly implanted chip, programmed with the fake identities that Douglas had fabricated for them both. Please, dear god, let this work. She drew a measured breath through her mouth and exhaled out of her nose, trying her best to calm a racing heartbeat.

“Relax kid, this Podunk little outpost isn’t a big thing. I mean, just look around—who’d want to smuggle themselves into this place? Their scatter-drones and random check points are all focused on the big borders. They don’t care too much about some Canadians grabbing a trunk-load of grocery swag in Point Roberts.” Douglas gestured by lifting his fingers from the wheel and snickered. “This’ll be a piece of cake!” Biyu nodded and continued to stare straight ahead. Try to act grown-up, remember, I’m supposed to be a twenty-two-year-old newlywed, just arrived from Beijing. My name is…Oh, shit—what’s my name? Meilin…say it again—Meilin, ‘my name is Meilin’.

A green light next to the car’s driver’s seat blinked on and off. Douglas proceeded forward slowly murmuring, “We got this, wifey. Just follow my lead and try and act casual.” He rolled down his window and brought the vehicle to a stop near the sliding glass window. The agent, a thirty-something man with a flattop haircut and biceps that burst from the sleeves of his uniform, peered into the car from behind mirrored sunglasses.

“Names?”

Douglas stared at the dashboard, frozen in place. His fingers gripped the steering wheel until the fake leather squeaked under his pressure.

“Sir, I asked ‘what are your names’?”

Looking for all the world like a koi fish, Douglas opened then shut his mouth several times, but emitted no sound. The agent moved toward the driver’s window.

Biyu leaned forward in her seat and faced the somber agent, “Shi, guān. We name ‘Mar-teen’—Francis and Meilin... We two now married.” Flashing her faux-diamond wedding ring, Biyu did her best impression of Nai-nai’s pigeon English, hoping that it would deter the officer from his inquisition long enough for Douglas to regain some composure. It seemed to do the trick, as Douglas gave an involuntary shudder and fell into character.

“Yes—yes, we certainly are the Martins all right. Coming in from Vancouver. And how are you this fine day, officer?”

The agent ignored Douglas’s chatter and glanced at his monitor to confirm whether the scanner’s information coincided with the names he was given. “What is the purpose of your visit today, Mr. Martin?”

“Well, my beautiful new wife and I are sub-letting a house here… It’s down on, letsee… err, Roosevelt Way.” Biyu handed Douglas the realtor’s map and he pretended to fumble with it, searching for their fake home.

The agent’s gaze rested on Biyu’s face. “How old are you Mrs. Martin? Biyu felt her face grow warm as she flushed with anxiety. She coughed and answered, “Wǒ bù míngbái?” looking at her “husband” for explanation.

Douglas followed her prompt. “He wants to know your age Meilin, ‘Nǐ duōshǎo suì?’”

Biyu faked an embarrassed giggle and answered, “Wǒ èr shí èr le.” She held up her fingers and made the count to twenty-two.

The agent looked at the scanner, then back at Biyu for several seconds. He typed several characters into the monitor’s virtual keyboard and rubbed his chin as he read the report. Without looking back at Biyu the officer said, “When did you arrive into Canada, Mrs. Martin?”

Biyu panicked and stared at Douglas with her eyes opened wide. What do I say? I forgot to memorize that one—holy crap! To buy herself some time, she fell into muttering a rapid succession of Mandarin—random things she remembered her mother and Nai-nai saying to each other. She prayed that the officer was less fluent in Chinese than she was at the moment. Douglas stammered, “It’s been a very full week, let me tell you—boy, what with the wedding and all. My little flower arrived only… uhm, six days ago. Yes, I believe it was the 10:30 flight from Beijing Capitol Airport—on Air China. That’s right, July 17th.”

Flipping through the projected X-ray images on his screen the officer glanced at the trunk of their car. “What type of appliances are you bringing with you into the States, Mr. Martin?”

“Ahh, those would be our new microwave and TV—presents from my mother. We have a rental truck with the rest of our furnishings and possessions arriving tomorrow.”

“And is this the person to whom your vehicle belongs to? Your documentation shows a Deloris Schultz from Steveston as the registered owner.”

“Yes, my mother gave us this old car once she had her hip operation—she doesn’t leave the house much anymore. And well, what with these old manual-drives being worth nothing resale value-speaking… I sort of figured it’d be a good starter car for Meilin to practice on.”

The HSA agent sucked on his teeth for a moment as he scrolled down the monitor. At last he turned away from the screen and looked back toward the car. “Very well. Are you bringing anything with you into Point Roberts—firearms of any kind, plants or medications?”

“Douglas chortled, “No, no… just my precious little jade flower, sir. That’s all, and that is quite enough for me.”

The officer’s expression remained neutral as he arched one eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses. “Fine. You’re cleared. Please make sure to declare any items over 50 dollars that you might purchase while in the United States upon your return.”

“Thank you, officer. You have a great afternoon now, you hear?” Douglas called out as he rolled up his window and drove past the booth. Once they were clear of the border office, he blew out an audible sigh of relief. “We made it.”

Biyu glared at him. “Christ, Douglas, ‘Precious jade flower’? I pretty much threw up inside my mouth when you said that. Could you possibly have been any smarmier?”

“I was delving fully into my character, Biyu. Just playing a normal, working-class newlywed guy… not that I’d expect a kid like you to know anything about that.” He adjusted the rear view mirror and said to himself, “At long last, my years of role-playing games has paid off. I ought to get into this secret-agent gig full time. I just might have a knack for it.”

Biyu rolled down her window and let the ocean breeze cool the sweat from underneath her collar. “You couldn’t portray a ‘normal’ person to save your life, Douglas. But… thanks.”

They drove slowly through the neighborhood of their purported new home and then pulled away from the cul-de-sac and turned onto the main road, heading to the north end of the peninsula. Biyu leaned her head against the side of the car door and gazed at the water. She thought about her family, scattered who-knew-where across the continent, and whispered, “Zhù nǐ hǎoyùn, Jun.”

Douglas pulled into the vacant parking lot of The Point. The guesthouse and lounge was situated at the edge of the paved lot, backed against large rocks that separated the shore from the asphalt. The ostentatious signage at the entrance seemed out of place in relation to its rural setting and the building’s somewhat rustic appearance. He pulled alongside the back entrance, parked the car between a large dumpster and grease bin. “OK, we’re here. This is going to be our base of operations for the foreseeable future, my little China girl.”

Biyu cast an annoyed look in Douglas’ direction before she climbed out of the car. She shut the door behind her and stared at the underwhelming structure in front of her. “So, tell me again… Why here?”

“Dude, are you serious? This place is awesome as far as undercover ops goes. Just think about it—it’s across the border, so yeah, that… and totally off the beaten path… and, man, just look at it, Beebs—I mean, who’d think to search for a couple of fugitives here?”

“Yes. Exactly. Who in their right mind would ever want to hang out here?”

“My sister’s ex, Randall—owns this joint and is letting us set up shop in the basement. Oh yeah, did I mention beer? This is going to be epic. C’mon, help me get the gear downstairs.” For the next two hours Biyu and Douglas lugged equipment down the greasy stairs and through a maze of kegs and liquor boxes. Douglas spread his electronic gear out on an old shuffleboard table and began to hook up the systems while Biyu drug some of the empty kegs across the basement to build a partition wall. Before long, they could hear footsteps and activity overhead. “Don’t worry kid, like I said, Randall is totally chill about all this. He’s the only one who ever comes down here so we’re cool.”

“How soon until you’re ready? Can we get a signal down here, Douglas?” Biyu stared around at the concrete walls ceiling. “Shouldn’t Jun be checking in soon—I mean, if everything went as planned?”

“I should be operational in about ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll get a strong enough signal—I bought a kick ass router just for this mission. It’s going to take a while for all this new software and systems to synch, it’s a damn shame that we got pinged by HSA when Jun dug too deep. All that gear… all my games man, poof—just—gone. It’s not like any of those HighTower spooks would know how to beat the twelfth level of Sepulcher… what a waste, dude.”

“But these new computers… They’re going to work, right?”

“Oh yeah, don’t sweat it kid. I had to call in a lot of favors—and I owe a few favors of my own now, but these will most definitely do the job. Plus, they’re spotless. HSA wouldn’t begin to know where to look for these puppies.” Douglas knelt down and crawled underneath the table to connect cables and cords. “We’re going deep now, Jun and I… Into the abyss of the world-wide-web. I live for this shit, man.” He chuckled as he continued, speaking in a deeper voice, “To boldly go where no man has gone before—to search out new forms of… Ouch, gawddammit!” The table top shuddered and equipment rattled as Douglas banged his head. Just then, the mobile in Biyu’s pocket vibrated. She pulled it out and answered. “Hullo? Jun—is that you?”

“Biyu! You guys through the border yet?”

“Yeah, we made it without too much hassle. Where are you—are you OK?”

“I’m good. I finally got the stench of those diapers out of my nose. Look, I can’t say much on the mobile—how long until Douglas is up and running?”

Douglas plopped into the folding chair in front of his console and monitor. Punching several keys at a time he looked up at Biyu and said, “Firing everything up in T-minus ten—nine—eight…”

“He’s about up, Jun. Are you online too?”

“Yeah. I’m down in the International District, at a friend’s place. I shouldn’t say much more though Biyu. I’ll send you a message once Douglas makes the connection—K?”

“Yeah. Good luck, brother. Find Mom and Dad…and Nai-nai. Love you.”