Chapter 12
Pasqual had determined from calls to Thich Tok Longh at the Từ Hiếu ‘Root Pagoda’ it was time to visit Hue and the site of Reynaldo Schmuck's and to learn anything possible about his missing uncle’s last days. He determined the journey would companion translator, and his first choice would have been Nữ Thần Ngon - a juvenile excuse to be near her. He imagined it was due to her station and responsibilities as owner/operator of a successful homestay, she appeared to run “hot and cold” in a way he couldn't fathom. Having been stabbed in the liver by a former lover, however unintentionally, Pasqual was keenly aware when he was being strongly rebuked for things he didn’t do and found his sentiment described much about Nữ Thần Ngon.
Thinking that a local translator might be more sensitive than a foreigner asking awkward questions about death, American War or no, Pasqual booked passage on one of the long busses between Hoi An and Hue, likely similar to the transportation Reynaldo used in his last trip to Hue. Pasqual booked into the Purple Haze Homestay for 2 weeks, while keeping his room at the Duyên Dáng Homestay. The Purple Haze proprietors were very helpful in arranging a local translator, Son Do who'd had prior dealings with the Từ Hiếu pagoda - .
Pasqual arranged a time when Thich Tok Longh was available, and set off with Son Do on bicycles toward the pagoda. They were past the top of a rise on Điện Biên Phủ into the long curve for Lê Ngô Cát toward the root pagoda. Son passed a young woman and her child exiting from a gas station on her scooter. It had been raining all morning and the roads were slick with a petroleum sheen on the pavement after a long dry spell; Pasqual had just passed the woman when he saw a large cargo van careening toward him trying to beat the traffic turning right on the long curve. The van missed Pasqual by no more than a bike wheel diameter and pinned the young mother and her child under its front fender. They were killed instantly. There was not a sound except the purr of her well tuned scooter running after the collision until someone mindfully turned the ignition off. The driver sat at the back fender of his van and wept quietly.
Too shocked to move from where he had parked his bike, Pasqual realized he couldn’t remember anything from the time he saw the van hurtling toward him until he bent over the woman and her child to check for nonexistent pulses; the gas station manager had taken command of the scene; Son Do had given him all their contact information explaining they would be at the Từ Hiếu pagoda for hours and after that, the Purple Haze Homestay. Pasqual allowed his guide to pull him from the gathering crowd, then complete their ride to Từ Hiếu.
The glut of death that had provoked Pasqual and Angela to flee the United States in early 2022 remained an emotional fog of loss and fear - an ever-present specter haunting their steps from a distance with statistics, bodybags and liturgies for how to survive through restrained proximity - manifested by 'social distancing' that had prevented a massive slaughter, yet the pristine face of death had never leered at Pasqual so balefully as that morning. When he and Son Do finally arrived, Pasqual understood within moments if there was anywhere in the world he would grieve for those strangers' sad fate, it was in the root pagoda at Từ Hiếu. The earth seemed infused with the love of ancestors and for long moments while he sat reflecting on what had just occurred, Pasqual could almost feel the collective respiration of all the world’s ancestors, including the dead woman and her child, his tio Jose as well as Reynaldo Schmuck.
He had no idea how long he sat at the low bench in front of a crescent shaped pond, nor could he say how long he’d shared the bench with a robed monk immersed in the calm of that pond, Pasqual knew the mute man was Thich Tok Longh. When he looked to Pasqual, it felt as though they had been conversing gently for hours about every grief Pasqual had ever known; when 'Thay' Longh asked Pasqual to tell him something about his uncle, all that Pasqual thought to say was, “he looked a lot like you.”
Pasqual then brought out two folders from his pack, one marked “Jose Ortega”, the other “Reynaldo Schmuck”. Master Longh opened the folder marked “Jose”; there was a photo of a much younger man who indeed resembled the old monk. It was curious to watch the expression of the very old man as he reflected on the 62 year old photo of Pasqual’s uncle; the monk’s face contained sagas of stories, told and untold, while radiating warmth for all he saw. “I remember this man” was his comment before he rose from his seat and said to the still rising foreigner, “I am much encouraged by your presence, it saddens me to know of the suffering you passed through to be here. I hope it will not prevent you from returning tomorrow for lunch. We have much to talk about.” Thich Tok Longh walked away with light steps that appeared to kiss the ground while he walked away.
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Leslei woke from a deep dream to the sound of hammering outside her window. There was a technician at the top of a utility pole pounding nails into a frame for some manner of junction box, based on what she could see at eye-level from her loft window. Flinging her window open she bellowed across the 10 meters, mindless to her state of undress, “The fuck are you doing?” in flawless French vernacular, startling the worker to the point he nearly plunged from the pole, 10 meters to hard ground. His confusion said he’d heard nothing and saw all; she slammed the window shut and charged down the stairs into the yard picking up the ax at the wood pile for good measure. The worker’s salacious grin was replaced by contrite respect.
“Forgive me Madam, are you not Mrs. Archdai Tryump, and did you not request a satellite router for your domicile?” With the last question, Leslei took the ax and neatly plunged it deep into the coil of coax at the base of the pole precluding further discussion.
She set water boiling for coffee, and watched through the window as the wary technician inspected his work order, then reversing his vehicle out of the clearing phone-to-ear; leaving the coil where it sat with the ax buried half into its windings.
“Yes good morning to you Cher Tryump - fuck you . .. Why do you ask? If I choose to enhance my digital capacity, it will be because I have determined that what I have is inadequate to my want, not because some roi des cons wants to woo me with his largesse by an ostentatious display of his corporate connectivity installing satellite routers where they do not belong .. . Non! va te faire foutre.”
She poured her coffee; cleared her cache unsure of what Tryump was capable of; dressed and headed for a café in Aix she knew to be encryption friendly.
“Yes Lammele; am unsure of the time, or even where you might be. Is it convenient to talk.”
“Yes of course Ms. Coerktern, delightful to hear your voice. Is everything okay? I am just sitting down; moi et mon deuxième cocktail pondering the beauty of woman - funny you should call now.” Leslei enjoyed hearing this old man pitch unabashed woo, wondering what it actually meant to him; he had to be in his 70’s.
“Archdai Tryump tried to install a satellite router in my home under the guise of ’noblesse oblige’, or the lamest come on I’ve heard yet. From my research thus far, it’s hard to say whether his assets came up in our search for the holy grail from simple proximity to the digital vein or his inept data management. He may have the resources to hire the best and be much smarter than he looks, or’s an inbred moron stumbling through a minefield about which he has no clue - and everything in between.”
She could hear him rustling in his seat and when he spoke next his voice had changed timber - she knew instinctively he was feeling his phallus.
“I can see your dilemma dear; he wants your attention, or your distraction, but is unsure about how to go about it. Is there any indication of intrusion other than this obvious violation of your privacy?”
Leslei thought back over the past days; Madame Ouvière had a Pomeranian who yapped at cockroaches on Leslei’s porch, so she felt comfortably secure about intruders; the research she was doing was preliminary and pedestrian. “No, I can’t think of anything I am doing that would flag that level of scrutiny, unless it’s my habit of consorting with men of dubious rectitude, and I don’t know anyone who fits that description.” She smiled to herself not knowing what to expect from an old man of dubious rectitude; she could hear the ice chiming in his glass.
“What do you think about applying some jujutsu; let him in. Clearly you have his interest, perhaps you have him off balance enough that he will divulge what he doesn’t know he knows.” The same idea had occurred to Leslei, why not gain access to some satellite bandwidth as well as gossip from the peerage.
“We’d have to reverse engineer the exact configuration of the installation after the fact and I don’t know any technicians here, unless the owner of the café where I’m at does contract work. Can you have him vetted? François Cordoba, at the le Hublot in Aix. If he checks out; I’ll find a way to soothe Mssr Tryump’s battered ego and accept his offer for the installation of a Satellite dish.” Leslei wasn’t sure if Lammele was even listening, “hello?”
It sounded as though he had spilled his drink, but his voice was more like he’d gulped the drink in a swallow, “yes, I’m here; you are wonderfully daring to consider such a ruse. He is a lucky man whether he knows it or not.” Sounding winded, Leslei wondered about the subtext of their conversation.
“He does seem to think with his penis, not sure whether that makes him lucky or a vulnerable chump.”
“Vulnerable can be a very revealing experience.” Whatever fever pitch Lammele had been in, had passed.
“I’ll be sure to share what he reveals, when we speak next. It must be very late, you sound drained”. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought Lammele gasped when she said that. “I’ll be back in touch shortly.”
“I’ll look forward to that. take good care child”
Leslei knew ‘the sooner the better’ if she wanted to soothe the aristocrat’s wounded pride and so sent him a text after signing off the VPN connection. “archie, i’m sorry-ur tech woke me frm a 2 rare enticing dreamscape; its vry sweet youd wnt me to possess streaming capability, i accept ur kind generosity. wll clarify 4 landlady. c u soon”
Then one to Angela, “frm dscusion w/ Lmle wz dcded 2 opn dsinfrmation chnnl using stllite dsh curtesy A.D.trymp as mthpece - n'y msgs shuld be sme cpied sme 4 team, whtver msg is · tnks
Leslei resumed her work searching archives in the deep web for writings of Aaron Schtartz pertaining to their hunt. She knew their ruse with Archdai Tryump would only be effective if he was surveilling, and if not it would be difficult to determine who else might have tapped into any misinformation on the satellite channel; could be a waste of time in a deep cul-de-sac.
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Guildern was following similar reasoning, wondering if the team was duplicating its research efforts. He wondered how Marksburgh had gotten hold of an alleged recording of Schtartz theorizing about mirroring money. Schtartz had been acutely aware of his high profile and the threat to the status quo it represented. It was unlikely he’d have allowed himself to be recorded, especially when theorizing about such a revolutionary concept as hijacking the world economy. He opened the link he and Leslei shared for deep web research and re-correlated the principals to see if he could make a “bell” ring: Archdai Tryump; Reiman Curzewel; Faik Besos; Zchnarksky Marksburg - Guildern decided it would be better to imagine himself as the dead genius Schtarz - a hunted man being prosecuted for crimes against the state. They had limited his access to processors of any kind and forbid access to the internet, or tried to. What did he have in common with the Schmuck brothers and how do they figure into the puzzle?
The two younger brothers had gravitated to the legacy buddhist tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh and his teachings about “mindfulness,” while Domhall had been drawn to hallucinogenics and indigenous mysticism; but the three always maintained close emotional contact however distant their physical realities were. Somehow that close emotional contact was the key · Guildern was certain and he texted Mordecaise about his thinking.
Angela came up behind Guildern as he finished his text and stuck her tongue in his ear - as though it were an omen; his penis leapt to attention like it had been blessed by the hand of god. “I’ve been working on a subtext we can transmit through Leslie’s satellite hookup,” fondling Guildern’s member from over his shoulder. “If ‘the 3 cheeses’ are in the loop, they know we have sent assets out across the planet searching for a path to this ‘lost dutchman mine.’ What if we give them what they’re looking for in the form of 3 corpses in differing states of decay: decay can be golden. It will split the focus of their operatives away from the team’s actual line of inquiry; tangle their resources with an unsavory interest in dead bodies and all which that entails; muddy the water about our own research, and cost them valuable time.” At this point in her pitch, Angela had freed Guildern’s penis and was stroking it as though she wore a beard, and was in deep thought.
Her genius at times confused him, never sure if it was his id she enjoyed, or his easy availability to her lascivious mental processes, but damn if she wasn’t right - her reasoning was a perfect guise for a project that was all about hiding in plain sight. He immediately sent a text to Lammele outlining her plan: Lammele rebroadcast to all parties and it became the playbook of the day within minutes. Pasqual was aghast given his recent face-off with death, but the orient and its inexorable embrace of change blunted deep resistance to the idea. If anything his experience in Hue was cathartic in freeing him from fictions about dead heroes, helping him to focus more clearly on his current delusions.
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Reimen did not become a multibillionaire by allowing himself to be humiliated by circumstances, and though thwarted in his efforts to shift the balance for this particular game, he still meant to uncover and possess the “nut” he and his ostensible associates sought, if it existed, but it would be found and controlled by him, and him alone. The martinet flunky Archdai Tryump had proven more than useful in unveiling the curiosity of the ‘merican treasure hunter Leslei Coerktern holed up in Aix-en-Provence; but there was precious little information about what she was looking for other than particulars about the death of a petit bourgeoisie dilettante in the hills of Aix, and/or his two brothers who died subsequently within the year; their collective wealth was a pittance and Reiman could not see any connection between them and the “nut.”
Nevertheless he arranged with ‘prince’ Tryump for a satellite dish to be installed to monitor any possible connection, but the fool nearly blew it presuming she would welcome any bone a petit aristocrat threw her way. What Reiman didn’t understand was why she relented and ultimately accepted the technology that was offered her. He needed more information about this “Leslei Coerktern,” without alerting the other two of the triumvirate; he wanted better intelligence about competition for the “nut”. Reiman loathed the idea of cooperating, especially if doing so rendered him more vulnerable, but found himself dialing the lesser of two evils; “Yes, Hello Zchnarksky, my apologies to you and your family; it was all saber rattling, I’m sure you understand.”
“Actually, I don’t, and I have grave misgivings about working with you or Faik Besos.”
“Don’t hang up. Ask your mother if she ever felt in any kind of danger. It was all showmanship like any shareholder’s meeting; you know that’s true. I much prefer the arrangement we’ve arrived at, that is why I called - to offer information. We have a lead in France, an independent contractor out of Salt Lake City who is doing estate research on a millionaire dilettante who died in France about a year ago. I don’t know if there is any connection to our efforts, but we have just arranged for a satellite link to be installed in a farmhouse she has rented in Aix.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Share your tape of Aaron Schtartz, first.”
“If I do that, I would have to share the information with Besos; then there would little to prevent you from picking up where you left off eliminating the competition.”
“How do I know it’s not a lecture Aaron gave to some YMCA Career Night on the wonders of The Digital Age?”
“You don’t.”
“I see your point,” though Marksburgh was much younger than Curzewel, he could see how Marskburgh had garnered as much power as he had. “There is a minor aristocrat Archdai Tryump who trades his ‘influence’ for cash and occasionally contracts for sub rosa work no one would expect. In this case he’s installed a satellite router at the farmhouse of this operative.”
“Who is it?”
“I will trade any information the installation yields once I’ve reviewed the recording, and it contains useful information pertaining to our efforts - fair enough?”
“Fair enough, I will forward an edited version of the recording to your corporate email account.”
There was nothing more to be said and the line went dead.
(˚ ㄥ _˚)
13 May 2026
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http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com
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prohibited from AI sampling in any form
reprinted with permission; all rights reserved
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