AlexMcGilvery Array - Nano Bytes

«I already told you,” he began disappointed that she had forgotten what he had previously explained, «I don’t have a girlfriend.»

«I know. I didn’t mean that. Your friends?» she asked eagerly.

«No,” he answered and left.

And as he walked away he thought about the story and agreed that love was always on our minds.

The painting stared back at him. He looked and found a strong understanding with the old poet in the painting. He knew what it felt like to be completely alone, and to be reminded of it by the vast spaces found in nature: standing in a desert at night or when watching the distant setting sun dip into an unending ocean. He wondered if he would ever marry and how difficult it would be for him to settle into giving up his long–time affair with solitude.

He looked at the vastness of the waterfall that overpowered the poet in the painting. And then he thought again of her. Yes, her; still there, lingering in his mind. She was far from him, perhaps now nestled in her home in London. He didn’t know her, not at all; they had only spent a couple of days together in Saigon discussing their travels through the Orient. He now felt that his mind was too old and worn to fantasize and dream about a future with her that would never be. It was then that he knew that for the rest of his journey he would be condemned to think about her. She would haunt him. Yes, she would haunt him until the end. If only there was some way to reach her.

And so he stared at the poet in the painting, sitting alone, in room 502, in the Astor House of old Shanghai.

There was a sudden knock at the door.

He immediately shook his head of his thoughts, «Yes, who is there?» and went to his packsack that was on the floor by the bed, reached into it, and pulled out a loaded Smith & Wesson Model 3 Schofield revolver, which he had modified by attaching an optical gun sight onto the barrel.

«No need for the weapon,” the voice on the other side of the door announced.

How the hell does he know I have a gun? he thought concerned that perhaps the U. S. military police had tracked him down.

«I strongly suggest that you open this door. We do not want to attract too much attention.»

The voice was British. He was relieved for a moment that the man was not American. Regardless, Americans could still be there behind this individual waiting for him to open the door to rush in and grab him.

«And why should I open this door?»

«I know who you are, what you have done, and how soon the military police will be here. Believe me when I tell you this. You have no other option than to listen to what I have to offer you.»

He turned to look out the window to see if he could escape.

«Do not think it. You cannot escape. There are two sharpshooters who have you within their sights so again, open the door. You have ten seconds.»

He checked his revolver to confirm what he already knew, that it was loaded.

«Checking your Schofield will do you no good. Drop the weapon and open the door. Five seconds.»

How does he know? He went to the desk, placed the revolver on it, and approached the door. He cracked the door open and saw a man impeccably dressed but whose face was concealed by the darkness of the hall. He was wearing a white wing tip shirt with a black silk puff tie and pearl tie tack; a red dragon vest with a silver pocket watch chain hanging from its top button; a black swallowtail coat, black pinstriped trousers, and he was holding a black Victorian top hat in his left hand.

«Winters, Nicholas Winters, I presume,” he said with a smile and slight bow.

«How do you know my name?»

«May I come in?»

«Is that a questions or a command?»

«I am British, Mr. Winters. Please excuse the oddity of the circumstances, but when I can, I try to be polite and courteous.»

«Are you god damn joking with me?»

«Pardon me, Mr. Winters?»

«You heard what I said.»

«Mr. Winters, believe me when I tell you this, we do not want to attract too much attention. Now I have asked you politely, but if need be I will enter your room by force. I suggest you let me in now.»

Nicholas saw the sudden intensity in the stranger’s eyes. He stepped back from the door allowing the gentlemen to step into his room.

Once he had entered into the dim light of the bedroom he turned to face Nicholas and said, «The name is Kell. And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.»

Nicholas then noticed that Kell was wearing what appeared to be a mechanical earpiece of tiny gears with a radio antenna the length of a toothpick sticking up from it.

«How do you know my name?»

«There is quite a lot that we know about you, Mr. Winters.»

«We?»

«Yes, ‘we,’ but I will not explain to you who we are just yet. Time is of the essence, Mr. Winters. So I will make this short,” he then placed his Victorian top hat on the bed near the painting. «We have been tracking you since your escape from the MP prison in Manila as a favor to our American counterparts–quite an impressive escape. Our agents caught sight of you while you were in Burma and then again in French Indochina, and although there were a couple of months–here and there–when we lost track of you, for the most part you were predictable. Not a good thing, Mr. Winters, to be predictable.»

Nicholas, uncomfortable, made his way toward the desk where he had placed his revolver.

«Ah ah ah, Mr. Winters. I would not do that if I were you,” he smiled as he took out a pair of goggles with dark red tinted lenses from his coat pocket, put them on, rotated the lenses as if trying to focus them on something, and began scanning the room.

«What are you looking for?»

«It is none of your concern for the moment,” he walked toward the circular table by the open window and poured anise London dry gin into a clean short glass. He took a moment to smell the aroma of the gin and took a sip while he looked out into the night enjoying the view of the city and its lights. «Naturally, you are here in Shanghai. And naturally you are here at the Astor Hotel,” he paused to take another sip. «Your taste for luxury has remained, Mr. Winters. You were born in Chicago–1867, a post‑Civil War child; and born into tremendous wealth. Your father profited greatly during the war, didn’t he? Umph, well, regardless your parents were killed in the Great Chicago Fire leaving you, as sole heir to their fortune. Their loyal and most trusted manservant, a man by the name of Yao Xi Wang, raised you and placed you, as your father would have wanted, into a New York boarding school. You attended New York University, graduated and then pursued a degree in law for one year but dropped out. In your desire to see the world you joined the U. S. Navy and rapidly rose in rank to then join the Marine Corps in 1891 where your platoon was involved in combat against Chilean nationalist rebels. You were then stationed throughout the Pacific with considerable time spent in Japan before you were deployed to serve in repressing the Filipino insurrectionists in the aftermath of the Spanish—American War–”

«So what the hell do you want from me?» Nicholas, now very tense, interrupted.

«It is simple, Mr. Winters. The Americans have seized all of your bank accounts in the U. S. and we know of your three accounts in Great Britain. Work for us and gain continued access to your funds. We simply need an insider. Have you heard of the Righteous Fists of Harmony or, in the native tongue, Yìhétuán?»

He shook his head.

«I am disappointed, Mr. Winters.»

«Well, I just arrived this evening,” he said bitterly. «And I do not feel the need to stay on top of currents events, especially events here. I’m just passing through.»