Chapter 13
Mordecaise followed with approval the team’s tech-spindle unwind logic threads across various media platforms throughout the planet, but frustrated by Carina Abeja's silence about her lover's death, or how to understand why Domhall Schmuck’s body disappeared from where he apparently died in Oaxaca, Mexico to it reappeared at the morgue in Montevideo where he was pronounced dead. The Christmas Eve of his death Domhall, spontaneously began discharging body fluids from both ends of his anatomy while living at the artist enclave in Buena Vista with its owner and his lover, Carina Abeja.
She'd began immediately calling the local medicos, all of who were overwhelmed by an emerging variant; b.1.1.9. After being examined, and specimens analyzed, the attending Doctor explained to Carina it would be wiser for Domhall to remain where he was; kept hydrated and provided with any liquid nutrition he was able to keep down; rather than rely on hospital care that would likely be more dangerous than her native discipline.
Eventually Carina opened up to Mordecaise inexorable curiosity and shared her tale of woe; Carina wept dry tears recounting the week between Christmas Eve and New Year’s and the moment when she could no longer find a pulse for her beloved. She told Mordecaise how she had lit the fire to heat the stones for the Temescal hoping that whatever life force her lover still possessed could be raised using love, prayer and sweat. In a creative leap of healing ideation, his comatose body was placed on an elevated pallet within the heated sweat lodge, she fitted a shallow drum to the curves of his ribls and began a rhythmic syncopation she’d hoped would match the pace of his heart. It was their favorite position - her head on his chest · she listened for any thrump, thrump, thrump she from his heart - the drum and sweat a blend of native logic and modern physics attempting to draw blood through a nearly live being.
Domhall had been very open with Carina about his finances including his intention to die without a will; he gave her “Power of Attorney” should he ever become incapacitated. The document contained very unorthodox views about wealth, though well-considered. His working accounts for logistics were in the millions. For many years he'd culled the “dark web,” and had discovered a group of acolytes to the renegade computer scientist Aaron Schtartz. Based on what he discovered, Domhall Schmuck devoted the balance of his life to eliminating income inequality throughout the world.
In part, the group’s strategy involved a planetary matrix of loci where, based on financial modeling and complex socioeconomic factors, it had been determined precise cash infusions would create a cascading effect of unrelenting economic growth which could not be constrained, diverted or coopted by traditional capitalist thinking - a revolution of abundance - “the infinite growth” paradigm turned on its ear.
Mordecaise was struck dumb by the simplicity of its genius and marveled at Carina’s loyalty, not just to him, but to an
inchoate concept whose larger outline barely defined by tendrils of logic whose consequence bore no fruit but the prospect of a better world.
There was no mystery about Domhall’s journey. While he was alive, he had determined that if he should die unexpectedly, Uruguay as “Switzerland of South America” was a country less likely to penetrate his deliberate tangle of finances and more likely to be generous to Carina's tenuous 'Power of Attorney'. Domhall loved Mexico, but knew graft often held more sway than regulations. The network of couriers and shipping concerns of the band of economic revolutionaries maintained provided cover for the unsupervised transport of a body from one country to another and the web of contacts Domhall had assiduously maintained allowed for his remains to appear in a hallway of the morgue in Montevideo similar to how wealth had manifested within cities of the world just 5 years after the mutant virus arrived on the surface of the planet.
The 'economic revolutionaries' had began their assault on citadels of power and its conscription of the world's inherent worth in service of contrived austerity.
Mordecaise also understood instinctively that the knowledge he had been given was a death sentence if it were disclosed prematurely. He needed to make contact with some unknown group so well organized it had channeled billions of dollars worldwide without scrutiny of any kind nor alerting authorities to anomalous spikes during times of great financial stress from an externally enforced international austerity. Clearly these were individuals of high character and in possession of well-honed discipline. No doubt he'd been surveilled from the time he’d arrived in Oaxaca and likely long before.
He was never sure where his insights derived from: sex, drugs or en vino veritas, but his idea for contacting the renegade band of economic warriors required immediate action.
Guildern and Angela were resting upstairs in the apartment after coupling when he got a text from Mordecaise: “mst disprse thru stllte chnl frnce “found how Dmhl Schmucks corpse arrived MonteVideo minus docmsn - Tito Rivera is trading in virus mutations 4 big $s and smuggled body for study · tp scret”. Guildern knew it needed immediate transmission and sent the encrypted text to Lammele as the single point of contact for Leslei. The satellite router had been installed for a number of days and this would be a very practical experiment; the information was propagated in minutes and was parsed by all - the larger implications a mute deduction between known facts and unknown exigencies.
'It' was a lie - fact; Mordecaise knew the truth and deliberately sent the enemy down a rabbit hole, to protect the truth; to discover who was monitoring what: the satellite or Mordecaise; friend or foe? How could the group know they were not being played the same way they were playing? There was no way to know except for direct face to face communication and chances were good that those Mordecaise was trying to contact felt the same.
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Pasqual returned to the Purple Haze Homestay from the Pagoda a changed man - unsure of what he was feeling, he resorted to the craft beer seer; believing if it didn’t become clear what he was experiencing, at least he would be feeling no pain until morning. He enjoyed the lobby of the Purple Haze; like most places in between lockdowns, there were travelers from pandemic-free zones. After his 1st beer, he began to wonder how he was going to gain knowledge of an expat dead for 6 months, much less a blood relative missing during wartime for 62 years.
His mind turned to the mother and her child, dead for just a few hours and the grief her family would carry for years. It helped somehow to believe his work contributed to a better understanding about the life of Reynaldo Schmuck and that his research about his uncle migh bring relief to his own family; though few were still alive who could remember him.
He was chewing on the transmission from Leslie’s newly installed satellite router. Mordecaise was not given to nonessential communication, and Pasqual understood that the intention of her hookup was to muddy the waters by misdirection, but something about Mordecaise’ choice of Tito as foil didn’t feel right. What if instead of misdirection, he was making a declarative statement to an unknown asset he’d discovered was not only leading the ‘cheeses’ astray, but covering tracks that had been inadvertently revealed?
Sitting outside the Purple Haze on that balmy night he could only wonder how life had become such a hall of mirrors with clarity upended by muddy water; he knew that he was not the only person in the world feeling disconnected. He finished his 2nd beer and retired early wanting to arrive at the Pagoda fresh and clear headed for his lunch with Thich Tok Longh. He began dreaming the moment his head sunk into the impossibly fresh pillow case until the next day.
In his dream: He was walking down a steep cobblestoned roadway, so steep he had to concentrate on keeping balance. He was pulling a cart downhill. His mother and Angela were riding in the cart with a ceremonial drum between them. His mother was facing backward opposite Angela; the two were beating a cadence that gave him no rest. Nữ Thần Ngon was walking behind the cart, except she was holding his hand as he walked. There were tall buildings built with large blocks of peach colored stone on each side of the road, the buildings were covered with a small leafy brilliant green ivy, and the stone shimmered in sunlight. There were dark narrow alleys branching off at regular intervals. As he pulled harder and harder on the cart, people could be seen entering and exiting the alleys, but no people were anywhere on the roadway. His mother was crying, Angela was laughing and Nữ Thần Ngon was whispering something into his ear, but he couldn’t understand anything that she was saying. Far off in the distance there was the same scooter and two bodies that he saw that morning, but it never drew closer, no matter how hard he pulled or how fast the drum beat.
It was very difficult to wake, even though he had slept deeply for 10 hours. There were 3 messages from Son Do begging forgiveness, but there had been a family emergency and he would be unable to accompany Pasqual to the Pagoda. He assured Pasqual that Thich Tok Longh’s English was more than adequate for the two to communicate.
His ride to Từ Hiếu up Điện Biên Phủ Blvd was hard, aside from a deep reluctance to return to the corner where the woman and her child had died the day before; his mind could not shake the echo of his dream - going downhill and having to pull harder. When he reached the summit soaked in sweat, he stopped just past the gas station and lit two sticks of incense from a package he had bought from the vendors at the pagoda the day before. He arrived at Từ Hiếu in time to dry out and compose himself for his lunch with Thich Tok Longh.
The staff at the Purple Haze Homestay had marveled he'd been given an audience with the Bhikkhu, much less that he was invited to eat with the master. Pasqual was physically and emotionally drained, but very hungry. So he sat at the crescent shaped pool and waited.
“I’m very glad that you accepted my invitation to return, but I sense you carry much anxiety.” Pasqual didn’t know exactly when the Bhikkhu had sat down so nearly didn’t respond when the kindly man spoke to him.
“It is an honor Sir; i am grateful for your assistance and kindness.” Pasqual said this looking at the reflection of the gate in the shallow crescent shaped pond as though it and the Bhikkhu were one and the same.
“Let us walk to the hall and enjoy the grounds the sangha works so hard to encourage.” Pasqual understood that the Bikkhu had to be in his 80’s, yet his step was light and his gait firm. They walked in silence through a lush grove to a building where disciples were forming a line. I have had time to review your two files and am very happy you have come seeking more information about the two individuals, each memorable, and oddly similar to the other though many years apart.”
Bhikkhu Longh interrupted himself and turned to a commotion behind them in line.
A young disciple was visibly upset and speaking loudly to those around him, “Tại sao sư phụ của chúng ta lại tôn trọng một người nước ngoài bằng cách phục vụ thức ăn cho anh ta và xếp mình sau người lạ này trong hàng?” (Why is our master honoring a foreigner by serving him our food and placing himself behind this stranger in line?”) With no more than a glance from the Bhikkhu, the commotion was silenced and the two proceeded forward.
“Your uncle Jose was a very brave and loving man who risked much during his short stay in our city. I was a young disciple at the time Bikkhu Thich Nhat Hanh had journeyed to America to seek support for the peace movement in Viet Nam. Sister Chan Khong had been left in charge during his absence; it was a group the two had founded, the School of Youth for Social Service (SYSS) which your uncle Jose approached for help in filing with your government as a ‘Conscientious Objector’; in a foreign nation during a period of “undeclared war” his was a remarkably principled and moral act. What I can tell you about your uncle’s disappearance is this; one day he was present working in close coordination with the SYSS, and then he was gone. There is no documentation, but Chan Khong was born in Bến Tre close to the Cambodian Border and many in the temple suspected that your uncle had been spirited South when his application was denied by your government; hostilities escalated rapidly after the offensive during Tet in 1968.”
Pasqual had sat in awed attention picking through the savory vegetarian meal, but very mindful of how much the discussion had taxed his new friend. Like the love that Bhikkhu Longh radiated transparently, so too fatigue was clearly etched in his expression. Pasqual excused himself when the meal was through and asked for another audience at the Bhikkhu’s convenience to learn what he could about the foreigner Reynaldo Schmuck before returning to Hoi An - Thich Tok Longh nodded in agreement, and commenting:
“There is foundation for all things that occur in our world. When you were present yesterday as the young woman and her child passed beyond the veil, it was very similar to how Reynaldo Schmuck had expired a short six months ago at the same location. The universe is mindful of your journey and has provided caution for your further travels, also loving echos for the young mother and child as they passed through the veil”; the elder then rose excused himself to pace out of the large hall with slightly less volition than when he'd arrived.
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The 1st indication that their ploy had been effective was a phone call to Guildern, “Senór Sour, this is Tito;” Guildern switched on the recorder.
“Yeah, there’s a surprise. What do you want?"
“I got no place to go, I need your help, Ese; I’m being hunted.”
“Yeah, there’s another surprise. Did you think I might be the one hunting you?”
“It ain’t you; you too good for that kind’a shit; Mordecaise maybe, but he’s in Oaxaca.”
“How would you know?”
“‘Cause I’m the one that ferried the $25,000 to Aeropuerto CDMX; they used it to frame tu amigo.”
“Who used it?”
“Some English puta, said he’s a duke, like I give a fuck.”
“Why are you telling me this?
“I told you, I’m being hunted - like a dog; it ain’t my people; could be, but it ain't.”
“I'll call you mañana.” Guildern hung up; in no hurry to help Tito
Guildern called Lammele next; “Yeah, I just got the upload from your recorder; interesting, but it doesn’t tell us much. I’ve had a chance to talk with Mordecaise about the ruse. He’s trying to reach the people that shipped the body of Domhall Schmuck to Montevideo. We need to learn if the hit on Tito is for former sins or if it’s related to the red-herring we planted out of Leslei’s satellite. It tells us a lot that Tito’s hunter isn’t interested in debriefing him - they apparently just want him dead”
“That’s gonna be tough to parse, Tito made a lot of enemies in his life, including me and Mordecaise. But it also makes him an expert on enemies.”
Guildern waited while Lammele thought; it may well have been the middle of his night for all Guildern knew.
“The most useful step for us to take, must be based on Mordecaise’ objective, which is to open a dialog with the group responsible for shipping the body; Tito is a secondary consideration, but he’ll be useless to us dead. What if we use Leslei's satellite to have Tito making threats against Domhall’s consort, Carina? If they care, as I believe they do, they will reach out to her to warn her of the threat?”
“I like it. I’ll ask Angela to send out a bulletin to the group of the updated ruse; go back to sleep friend. rest well.”
Before he could go back to sleep he sent a text to Leslei: “greetns lttle drlin’ fr immdyte trnsmshun ’Tito’s ben run to gnd; nt b4 he ordrd hit on Dmhll Schmck’s grlfrind Crna 2 keep hr mouth sht. she rqurs immdyte prtectshn. no bckup avlble n’ tme - al hnds ondeck’.”
Worried about the young operative’s safety, Lammele sent a 2nd text to Pierre in Paris: “cncrn fr sfty of oprtve n Aix, enfrce ‘silent shield’; mxm priorty,” then resumed to his nightly 4-hour sleep as fitfully as anyone who lives on 4 hours of sleep per night would.
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Mordecaise determined it best to be out and about if he expected anyone from the Economic Revolution to reach out to him. The taxi cooperative, the ‘Collectivo’ a circuit of autos in a constant round robin between downtown Oaxaca and Santa Maria del Tule. He enjoyed the tiny town some 10 kilometers from Oaxaca Centro, and especially enjoyed sitting under the ancient cypress. The tree itself has the greatest circumference of any tree in the world. It is estimated to be between 1,500 and 2,000 years old, with some estimates as old as 6,000 years.
For Mordecaise, it was the extraordinary life force that living organism pulsed which drew him close. He would try to make the pilgrimage 2 or 3 times per week from the other side of the valley, more if Carina was available. He'd cross the plaza down the Carretera Int'l to the corral that housed the annual rodeo at the outskirts of town. He'd found a small chicken stand run by Bobby Sortiz that served some of the best chicken tacos in all of Mexico, or so Bobby would have you believe. Senór Sortiz was a ‘Tejano’ from Brownsville, the same city as Pasqual. Amongst Bobby’s 'sworn testimony' is that he'd recalled Pasqual Ortega from his rodeo days.
When Bobby asked Mordecaise early one afternoon while drinking cold beer and grilling chicken carcasses if Doña Abeja was “safe” at the compound; Mordecaise wasn't prepared: the question was exactly what their group had been trolling for hoping a voice from the ‘economic revolution’ would make contact.
“How do you even know Carina's last name Bobby, and why do you ask?” Mordecaise needed to draw him out; Bobby didn't fit the anonymous profile of an operative, nor exhibit the stealth of anyone capable of resistance against the most vicious reactionary men left of a crumbling capitalist empire.
“We don’t really have time to bullshit each other, do we?” Bobby squared himself directly in the front of Mordecaise' imposing teutonic rectitude, leaving the normally unflappable stanchion 'flapped' by this unexpected challenge.
“Is that what you think? that I’m here to bullshit you?”
“What I think is that you know exactly what I’m asking and why; I’m the only one that could know Tito Rivera had nothing to do with shipping Domhall Schmuck’s corpse back to Uruguay; that it was a bullshit ruse you used about him selling virus mutations to smoke out who is listening to your operative in France, and that you did it to make contact with whoever it was that was working with Domhall Schmuck when he tragically died. So you made contact; now what smart guy?"
(˚ ㄥ _˚)
15 May 2026
http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com
http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com
http://Stoanartst.blogspot.com
prohibited from AI sampling in any form
reprinted with permission; all rights reserved
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