I wanted to be able to just step through a veil and find a different world on the other side. – Jase on his persistence in bringing down Bill Henry

Here the whole world (stars, water, air,

And field, and forest, as they were

Reflected in a single mind)

Like cast off clothes was left behind

In ashes, yet with hopes that she,

Re-born from holy poverty,

In lenten lands, hereafter may

Resume them on her Easter Day.

– C.S. Lewis

“So, you've finally decided to do the right thing? Without reservation?”

The voice came unexpectedly, and Jase wanted to plug his ears like a child, though he knew he could not block out her voice.

“Not now, Meg. I have too much to work out to waste mental energy on you and your moralizing.”

Of course, she never listened to him anymore; apparently, when she had ceased her corporeal existence, she had lost any respect for him.

“I haven't lost respect for you,” she retorted, and Jase once again hated his own mind. Why did it have to sully Meg's memory by making her so annoying.

Meg's laugh drifted through his mind. “It's so you can't ignore me. You spent the best part of yourself trying to take care of me, and apparently, your mind doesn't want that part of you to die with me.”

“Well, my mind can go jump off a cliff,” Jase spat back at the thoughts.

“Have you considered that you might not want to do this?” came Meg's unexpected question. So unexpected, in fact, that Jase stopped his walk midstride. He had no real direction, anyway, so the shock took away his motivation to move. Instead, he sat down on the curb.

“Of course I've considered it. Are you saying it's the wrong thing to do?”

“I'm saying that you need to know why you're doing it.”

Jase shook his head in irritation. “I know exactly why I'm doing it. For Nessa.”

Instead of agreeing, Meg sighed with exasperation. “You think it's for Nessa, and I know better than anyone else how far you will go to save someone you love. Why do you go to such lengths, though? Is it purely selfish? You don't want to lose them?”

“Yes,” Jase responded immediately. “It's purely selfish.”

Another laugh. “Nice try. But I know you. You have other motives.”

“No,” Jase insisted. “I don't. In the end, it doesn't matter what I do - there will always be another bad guy to replace the last one. So, I just take care of my own.”

“Or, you think that maybe the bad guys are right.”

Jase sat up straighter on the curb, staring into the darkness before him.

“In what way?”

“Why,” Meg drew out the question, “do so many smart people root for the bad guy?”

“Because they see the same things I do. They see the futility of fighting against it.”

“Wrong,” Meg stated unequivocally. “Your logic doesn't stand up under scrutiny.” Jase laughed that his mind would use the voice of his little sister with such complex thought processes.

“So, explain how my logic fails.”

“Just because someone may win doesn't make him worth listening to. Smart people root for the bad guy because, many times, the bad guy is the only one who tells the ugly side of the truth. And everyone knows that the ugly side is a reality. Too many people have experienced it themselves. They see the bad guy as disenfranchised by a delusional society.”

“Those are my thoughts, Meg, not yours.”

“They're all your thoughts, Jase, but you don't like to hear all of them in your own voice because you might decide they're true.”

“So, what's the solution, Meg? I still don't see any fault in my conclusion: take care of my own because no one else will, and the bad guy has truth on his side.”

“That would be true if you were powerless to change it.”

“You said yourself: the bad guy speaks the truth. You can't change truth, Meg.”

Meg didn't respond immediately, and Jase wondered if he had silenced her.

“You know the phrase, 'the truth, the whole, truth, and nothing but the truth.”

Jase rolled his eyes. “Of course I know it.”

“Well, the bad guys tell the truth, but they don't tell the whole truth, and they certainly add their own spin by embellishing the truth.”

Of course, Meg was right, but Jase didn't know what he could take away from her assertion. Leaving out the ramifications of evil's ascent would kind of invalidate the bad guy's claim to truth. “So, let's say that's accurate,” Jase prompted, irritated for the first time that he had to go through the charade to get to his own thoughts. “Why would I change my formula? Why would I do anything to change it when things will just go on the same?”

“Will they, Jase?” Meg begged. “You know the reason I won't shut up. It's because you want this to be true. You want this time to be different. You want to actually accomplish something good this time.”

“Another man will just rise up in his place.”

“But Ganika Saxena will be set free. How many others like her? Are they really just faceless, nameless people? Dao, Felicity, Nessa, Briel, me? You have too many faces to ignore now, Jase. Now that you know you can make a difference. When the light takes a step forward, darkness has to retreat. It's simple physics. Now, you have the chance to make a sweep forward with a bevy of searchlights. Doesn't it get your blood pumping to think how many cockroaches you can send fleeing into further, less convenient corners of darkness. What about the thought that you could stamp out a few on the way?”

Jase tried to shut the voice out, but he couldn't.

“You want this, Jase,” she insisted again. “You always thought you were a realist, but you left out part of the truth, just like the men you despise. Be honest with yourself: you have encountered a problem that you wanted to avoid but you know you can solve.”

Without his permission, the faces of the women Meg had mentioned floated before his vision, and Jase's new dreams finally made sense. Dao's shining black orbs, huge in her face. Felicity steely blue eyes, piercing with their insight. Briel's eyes, glowing with green fire.

Nessa's, churning with the warmth of lambent flame that could at any moment erupt into passion. And, lastly, he saw Meg, in her childish form, standing before him and gazing with every ounce of affection she had ever felt for him. Even before he had known the full extent of Bill's atrocities, Jase's conscience had revolted against what might have happened to Felicity. If Bill would sell one woman, what would restrain him from selling others?

“I knew it,” Meg bubbled in her usual gush of enthusiasm. “You didn't believe me when I said you were good. Even when you had written yourself off, I knew what was inside of you.”

As the shock of the vision wrested consciousness from him, he saw her eyes and realized the truth. All along, his dreams had tried to wake him up to the reality he had denied, the eyes that had so terrified him. He had feared them, not as monsters, but as the messengers who would eradicate his comfortable life of inaction.

Once he acknowledged the souls behind those eyes, he could no longer ignore his responsibility. He could change things in a big way, and he had no excuse not to try.

Whether from the shock of seeing his sister or from the pain of his dying illusions, Jase slumped over on the sidewalk where he sat, completely oblivious to the world around him. By the time he awoke, the sun had begun to lighten the sky, though it had not yet peaked over the horizon.

Perhaps 5:30 a.m.? Unlike the last time he had awakened, he remembered everything that led up to his passing out, and he found himself gazing around him for some evidence of Meg's presence. Of course, he found none, as he knew he wouldn't. Only one memory seemed hazy from the conversation.

As he had lost his hold on consciousness, he had thought Meg said something about his pocket. Standing to his feet, Jase shook himself and took a deep breath. He still had no idea where to go, but he felt as if he had no choice now but to go forward as quickly as possible.

Meg had trapped him in the moments of their conversation, and he now knew that to go forward with the thought of only Nessa's safety would be to live in a lie. He cared about all the victims of Bill's treachery, not just Jase’s friends. He cared because it was just wrong, and Jase knew how to make it right.

“I said,” the voice faded quietly into his consciousness, “you dropped something. Mister.”

Jase looked up into the face of a man who pushed a cart before him, a cart laden with foods Jase would not likely have eaten. Glancing down, he saw the gentle shine of polished wood, almost silver in its shine, and he scooped it back into his hand with a stroke along its smooth grain.

Remember to check your pockets, Meg had said.

What had he assumed ever since he had found the wood? Jase had assumed confirmation of Bill's move to Thailand. Bill had a habit of sending out trinkets to his contracted workers as signals for action. Even better, Bill considered himself so brilliantly invincible that he usually used thematic symbols.

When Bill had contacted Jase to make the move on Felicity, Bill had sent him a cap with a red maple leaf on it. Soon after, Jase followed Felicity to Canada and facilitated her kidnapping. It was stupid, but Bill thought he was God. He had to make things symbolic.

So, the wood in his pocket had come from Thailand. Jase had figured that out almost as soon as he had seen it. Why, then, would his subconscious keep bringing it back to him? He already knew about Thailand. He had already flown to Thailand. Because I'm missing something, he insisted silently.

Within minutes, a long queue of carts had begun to line the streets, and Jase wandered slowly amidst the odd mixture of pleasant and noxious odors. The carts would open when the sun passed the horizon, and each owner jockeyed for the most advantageous position.

All at once, his eyes caught on the deep brown glimmer of the polished wood. An entire cart of the wood stood before him, and he tried to restrain his excitement. Had he finally encountered something that would give him direction?

“Is this something you would sell?” he nearly accosted the proprietor, and he saw an instant of fear as the young woman peered up into his manic expression. He calmed himself immediately and asked in a more reasonable tone. “Is this something you would sell?”

The woman took the object from Jase's open palm and inspected it for a moment before pointing to a cart that held similar trinkets a few yards away.

“Thank you,” he nodded before taking off toward the other cart. He measured his tone carefully so as to refrain from shocking his new target.

As he approached the cart, Jase noted an elderly man beneath the traditional Thai hat. Remembering the train, Jase bowed to the ancient face. “Is this something you would sell?” he asked without meeting the man's eyes.

“Not me,” he shook his head. “Panpu.”

Jase leaned forward to take in the exact syllables of the foreign tongue. A mispronunciation could make all the difference in finding his desired information. “Panpu?” he tried to echo.

“Panpu,” the man agreed.

“Who is panpu? Where do I find him?” Jase begged.

“No,” the man responded. He reached for the wood held between Jase's fingers and said “Panpu.” Then he picked up a piece of his own merchandise. “Kae-Sa-Luk.”

“So, your wood is Kae-Sa-Luk,” Jase motioned toward the cart, “and mine is Panpu?” He held up his little sliver of ornately carved wood. The man merely bowed his agreement. “Thank you,” Jase offered and set a couple of dollars on the man's cart before stepping away to think.

Unfortunately, his burner phone had come without a browser, and Jase felt no confidence in his coverage in any event. Peering up and down the street, he noted the steady blaze of a neon sign about half a block away. Jase had encountered several of the establishments on his travel through Chiang Mai: an internet cafe.

As fast as he could safely weave through the carts, Jase made his way down the block. Panpu. Though it might prove a dead end, Jase would make up the five-minute zip through the internet cafe if he found a clearer direction.

His search gave him little initially, but after filtering through a couple of pages of results, Jase found it. “Myanmar's traditional sculpture,” he read with excitement. Myanmar. With the new information, Jase began to research his previous intelligence. Shan Ang San, he typed. Nothing of substance. Then he tried Ang San. He had tried the park in Bangkok, but that had given him no specific intel, so there was no reason to continue in the belief that the clue had pointed there.

Maybe, though, the name referred to a man, not a place or a thing, despite what Dao had said. The search results bore out his assumption, though he could not narrow down the results to any significant degree. Finally, with his new direction in mind, Jase found the region “Shan” just across the border from Chiang Mai. He had already encountered the name as a region before, he just hadn’t thought to look in Myanmar.

Pulling up a map of the region, Jase studied the geography that ran between Chiang Mai and the Shan region of Myanmar. Since Bill could travel anywhere within the region, Jase had to limit his possible destinations by some other method. Even though he had narrowed the possibilities down to a region, that region covered 60,000 square miles.

Jase decided immediately that Bill would wish to meet with some form of government official rather than a random drug lord. In Myanmar, Jase knew, most of the money and power rested in the government, and Bill would find little benefit in meeting with the less-than-powerful. Since corruption ran rampant in the government, Bill would find fertile soil for his business.

Thirty years before, Jase would have guessed a city somewhere on the western side of the mountains. Nearer Thailand, anti-government forces had traditionally held most of the cities, running drugs to fund their resistance. In recent times, though, the government had managed a presence throughout the region, technology allowing development where none had existed in recent past.

Still, the area retained a sinister environment, its natural bucolic charm masking an undercurrent of the criminal that had not yet fled completely. Such a heterogeneous location offered a convenient mask for any hidden activity Bill might wish to undertake.

Perhaps more difficult to find, and therefore more important, Bill would need resources. Bill Henry would not meet in back woods or darkened rooms. For the wealthy CEO, nothing but civility would suffice, and good business deals required a measure of refinement. Though secrecy abounded in uncivilized Myanmar, affluence did not.

It was affluence Bill needed. In America, Bill might have picked a rural ranch and estate in which to transact business. In underdeveloped Myanmar, luxury would prove much scarcer and therefore easier to pinpoint. No need to hide away in the country; much easier to find resources – both material and human – in the city.

With a measure of confidence, then, Jase narrowed his choices down to a few cities, and from there down to just one. Bill would not countenance the tedium of travel by car or train, so that left plane or helicopter. Plane travel so close to China would prove almost impossible to hide, so Bill would likely use a helicopter.

The most practical city for helicopter travel lay just a little more than 100 miles north of Chiang Mai - only an easy hour's ride in a chopper. Not only that, but Kengtung, a booming metropolis of over 100,000 people, had served as a hub for opium distribution until the government moved in a few years back.

That kind of corruption absorbs government; it didn't cave to the law overnight. It crept in and infiltrated the powers-that-be until the whole system sludged with rivers of lawlessness. Just Bill's kind of environment.

Almost giddy with the new information, Jase cleared the browser's cookies and history and stood from his perch at the cafe. He had a name and a place, and according to Bill's calendar, Jase also had a date.

A few hours later, Jase paid his way through the Burmese checkpoint. Because of his aversion to leaving a trail, Jase did not hire one of the government mandated guides, but he knew the risks and could live with them. If someone in authority found him out, Jase would have little defense for his actions and would likely end up labeled “up to no good.”

After winding through countless miles of undeveloped land, by bus and taxi and on foot, Jase found himself in an unmoving line of cars that led into a city, Kentung, the closest major city to the Thai prosperity. Bill had a meeting, and Jase was betting on Kentung.

Not, most likely, in the city proper, but somewhere nearby. Fortunately, Jase made his way into the city without incident less than ten hours after he had left Chiang Mai. He had as little as 24 and as many a s 48 hours to root out and find a trace of ProtoComm or Bill Henry. With a date but no time, he would need to err on the side of certainty, at least find out the details in the next day.

Just north of town lay a lush green mountain, and Jase could make out a faint shimmer that ran the northern boundary of the town. The silver line delineated a lake, and south of the lake spread a cramped little metropolis.

Closer to him, the town seemed run down, cram-packed with shoddy shops and haggard vendors. Beyond the lake, Jase noted several ornate and beautiful buildings, and he sensed that any lucrative business dealings would occur beyond the lake. He skirted the commercial district, staying to the largely residential area of Kengtung.

On the eastern boundary of the city, Jase encountered an unusual, if interesting, sight, and he recognized it as characteristic of the Myanmar political climate. A boarded-up shack sat forlornly, surrounded by several military personnel. If Jase’s knowledge of the current ruling regime held true, the hovel contained some dissident that the government found useful to keep alive.

At least in America, the political oppression largely occurred with disparaging words, not with physical confinement, Jase mused. Though he held no delusion of his country's perfection, he also recognized its basic respect for human value and the protection given by the ruling power of the law.

And if a corrupt man set on evil did injure the innocent, that man would eventually face justice – like Jase would bring Bill to justice. In less benevolent political entities, the whim of a few men could destroy legions of innocent people and perpetrate great injustices.

Though the fare differed slightly in Kengtung, the market looked similar to the Klong Toey slum. Actually, even the wares and foods sold by the vendors looked much the same.

The Burmese people might have favored their Bangladeshi neighbors to the west where the Thai people favored the Cambodian or Laotian neighbors to the east, but the chaos and colors, the strange scents and hum of busyness, the dusty streets – Jase could almost have picked up the marketplace in Klong Toey and set it down in Kengtung, and, except for the lack of technology in Myanmar, he would hardly have noticed the difference.

The best thing about Myanmar for Jase’s purpose, though, was that he only really would run into two types of people. Those who hated the government but were too scare to do anything about it, and those who were mad enough to rebel.

Even in the US, Bill had found a way to buy government cooperation – less actual participation and more turning a blind eye. In a country as poor and corrupt as Myanmar, the government would welcome a relationship with someone as powerful as Bill.

Jase imagined that the Tatmadaw, the military government, would have no trouble providing its oppressed subjects as slaves for Bill, and Bill would – for the right price – gladly broker a weapons deal to keep the subjects oppressed.

Jase stopped himself within a stone's throw of the prison-house, having observed the guards for a few minutes from behind a cluster of brush. As if to punctuate his opinion of Myanmar, Jase watch with disgust as an unexpected scene unfolded before him.

From where Jase sat, he could spot the victim long before she arrived, and he had the perspective to see clearly the demented pleasure on the guards’ faces. The men sighted the lone figure shuffling down the dirt road that ran past their quarry. With undisguised glee, the guards began to torment the small, bent form who carried a bag of rice on her head.

As she cringed away from them, Jase could see her aged shriveled face and the look of fear that flashed across it. The bag on her head seemed heavy for her, and the guards stepped in front of her to block her path.

Laughing, one of them looked around the nearby yard until he spied a knapsack that obviously belonged to one of the men. Grabbing it, the guard placed it on the woman's head and barked some command in an austere tone that Jase couldn't understand.

Though he hated the realization, Jase saw no ready means to intervene between the poor woman and her tormentors because he felt no confidence in his ability to take on all four, highly-armed men.

If he tried, he would more likely find himself a prisoner with few resources, and the woman might be dead. Still, his eyes searched frantically for some method by which he could interfere with the men's taunting. Then he spotted it.

The men had knocked the woman's bag of rice to the ground, and some of it had spilled onto the ground. One of them kicked sand into the rice, and when the woman protested and bent down to retrieve her bag, the men laughed again and began to kick the dirt onto the woman.

He could restrain himself no longer; Jase reached the small, metal trash bin seconds later, and he removed the lid and took aim. If he could stun one of them, that would leave only three for Jase. Some of the men would have to chase him, and others would have to stay to guard their prisoner. The resulting divide would simplify either Jase's escape or his battle.

To his disgust, the acting out of his plan didn't materialize in quite the way he had planned. It wasn't quite as pretty. Instead of stunning a guard, Jase merely ricocheted the lid off of two of the men, neither of whom received an injury, but both of whom grunted angrily before engaging in a short and loud discussion with their comrades.

Within seconds, they had turned and run toward the brush where Jase hid. Still, he had basically accomplished his goal. Two men stayed behind, and they had completely forgotten the old woman for fear that someone would try to free the prisoner. Though Jase had little time to celebrate, he smiled as he watched the old woman stoop to retrieve her rice before making a line in the opposite direction from Jase's pursuers.

Wanting to lead the men as far from the old woman as possible, Jase zig-zagged away from both her and the prison-house, a path which led him straight into the heart of the woods. The strategy worked well for Jase, providing plenty of visual cover and also ensuring that the men couldn't hear Jase's retreat.

With as much noise as they made crashing through the bracken, Jase little feared that the men could trace his relatively stealthy egress. After a half-mile trek, Jase paused, listening to the now far-off sounds of the two men who followed him. He began to pay closer attention to his path, noticing that the trees had thinned slightly – he approached some kind of clearing.

If the men encountered him in the open, Jase knew that the shots that had at first missed him would have a better chance of catching their mark. He grew even more concerned when he heard a loud, shrill whistle followed by a responding whistle that came from entirely too close by. Within minutes, Jase feared that he would face an unknown number of enemies.

Slinking along what he hoped was the perimeter of the clearing, Jase moved in the opposite direction from which he had heard the whistle. He no longer worried about the woman, and he hated holding disadvantages when he entered a fray, much less going into a fight with no card up his sleeve.

He heard the sound an instant before the hand whipped up and wrapped itself around his mouth. Behind him, something hit against the back of the knees.

Jase's mind balked, but only for an instant. Rather than fall back, as his attacker had no doubt intended, Jase twisted against the hands that held him, using his weight as a tool to drag the assailant to the ground.

Since the person's hand had only loosely held Jase, he recognized the signs of an amateur, and he did not lash out with full force. Instead, he followed the direction of his movement with his arm and wrapped the man in a headlock before landing on the ground on his knees.

To his credit, the assailant didn't cry out or whimper. Instead, the man hissed a phrase that Jase couldn't make out, apparently Burmese since it sounded familiar but indecipherable. The tone of the voice, to Jase's surprise, sounded scared and held the tremor of innocence.

Gripping the man with his left hand, Jase carefully slid his arm from the man's neck, retaining both shoulders in his hands. The man raised his hands, and Jase tried a whispered communication.

“Do you speak Thai?” Jase queried.

“A little,” the man replied.

“Why did you grab me?”

“You in trouble,” the man struggled with his words, and Jase conjectured that the man had learned the language through the tourist industry. “Soldiers chase you, and I see how you help lady. You stupid, but nice.”

Though Jase wanted to laugh, he didn't have time, because he could still hear his original pursuers crushing twigs and leaves underfoot. He turned to the man and said, “Go away,” before turning to run.

“Wait!” the man insisted a bit loudly. Then he quieted his voice, “Come with me. My house right through there.”

Since the man pointed away from the direction of the pursuers, Jase followed cautiously, reserving the right to break off at the first sign of a double cross. The man moved silently, and within a few minutes, a tiny hovel appeared on what turned out to be the edge of the market district. Once Jase entered under a narrow doorway, the man turned back to face him.

“Why you have no guide?” the man looked more curious than suspicious.

“Why? Are you going to turn me in?”

Smirking, the man shook his head. “No, I not turn you in. You look like trouble. I help.”

“What's your name?” Jase questioned the man.

“My name Thet.”

“How can you help me, Thet?”

“You need to get out country. You can't for the men chase you. I have friends who can help.”

Though he wouldn't have expected it considering the circumstances, Jase knew that the Burmese people often inundated tourists trying to gain coveted business. Perhaps this man merely solicited Jase's business. Still, the soldiers were as much a part of everyday life as the tourists, so perhaps the man was sincere. Jase narrowed his eyes, “I don't need a guide. I have important business.”

To Jase's surprise, Thet seemed to puff at the insinuation. “I no want money. You help lady; I think you nice man. I have friends who help you.”

Jase turned to look carefully at Thet. Something in the man's tone made Jase peer deeper. Though nothing appeared unusual about the diminutive, robe-clad Burmese man, his eyes pierced deep into Jase’s mind. This man had a method behind his madness.

“Why do you want to help me?” Jase leveled skeptically.

“I see a lot of reds come through here. Sometimes the women are kind, and a few of the men, too. But the men who look like you come here for trouble. Some make trouble for the government; most make trouble for the people. You make trouble for the government.”

At his last words the man grinned. Then he reverted to an even more serious expression than before.

“The government take everything that is good. If you try to complain they take more.”

“And they took something from you?” Jase wondered.

“My family work for factory that make money for soldiers. We make a little, the soldiers make a lot. We don't complain because the soldiers have guns. One day, I tell soldiers my wife can't come because she sick. They say I bring my daughter instead. Daughter too young, I say.”

Jase shook his head. He could imagine the ending.

“The soldier say one must come, and my wife no want daughter there. Daughter almost marrying age, and soldiers not care about marriage. Wife go to work for one week, then wife die. When I say daughter no can replace her, soldiers come take daughter. Now I am alone. Now I fight soldiers.”

Jase saw the pain in the man's face, and he wondered at casually he had ignored Bill's crimes in the past. What kind of man could stomach dealing with such a corrupt government and knowingly causing this much pain? Still, what could little Thet add to the battle against such a behemoth evil?

“Many of us have problems like this with soldiers – sometimes even soldiers don’t like soldiers. I not strong enough to fight, but I smart. I carry news to fighters. Now I carry you to fighters. If you want trouble, they help you. If you want out, they help you because you help lady.”

At this, Jase's eyes lit up. Maybe Thet would give Jase the opportunity he needed. Gazing intensely at the little man, Jase said, “I want trouble.”

After about ten minutes, only a few blocks over from the prison-house, Jase spied a group of men who stood chatting somberly behind a disheveled shanty. A fence stood about five-and-a-half feet tall, and one of the camouflaged mercenaries kept a pair of binoculars trained on the personal prison Jase had spied on the way into town. Thet led him toward the group, but did not actually approach them. Instead, he pointed to them and whispered, “They help if you ask right.”

Then Thet turned and disappeared into the trees.

Jase laughed silently, but he didn't let himself mull over the small man's departure. He found it ironic that, though Thet had known that these men would help, he didn't feel secure enough of their kindness to actually approach them himself. Looking at the men, Jase understood.

Evil men breed resistance, and evil governments breed rebels. Everything about these men spoke rebellion. They hadn’t gone as far as to paint their faces, but their expressions breathed malice, and Jase wondered that they could perch so closely to a guarded post without discovery.

After watching the men for half an hour, Jase saw with a measure of surprise that their actions revealed unanticipated savvy. As Jase approached, the men scurried into the nearby brush and disappeared with little evidence of having existed at all. A tall, bony woman hobbled out of the house, broom in hand, and began to sweep the dirt from the yard off of a stone pathway that ran from the gate to her front door.

Curious, Jase swept his eyes in a semicircle, seeking some explanation for the sudden egress of the men. Surely, they had nothing to fear from a lone tourist like Jase. About fifty feet down the road, a soldier suddenly rounded the bend in the road and sauntered down the street toward the house.

He did not stop, but he glared at the woman where she swept. The woman merely gazed coolly at him, her expression completely inscrutable. Of course, Jase had to give credit for such foresight and planning, and he began to think that the men he had stumbled upon might hold more promise than he would have imagined.

What better source for information regarding nearby government corruption than a vigilant rebel group that had committed itself to bring down that government. Jase needed to connect with these men.

Rather than approach them directly, Jase doubled back to the same bend from which the soldier had emerged. He strolled casually up to the gate of the little yard and stood where the men could clearly see him, trying hard to assume a non-threatening posture.

The men did not retreat for the apparent tourist as they would have for a soldier. Throwing out a few phrases in Thai, Jase adopted a sage expression in hopes that the men would divine his sympathetic intent.

Despite his attempt to appear friendly, the men refused all eye contact, and Jase moved from his position outside the yard through the wide arched gate that allowed access to the home. Obviously, they had not considered the American tourist a possible threat until that moment.

“I am looking for someone,” Jase risked, and two of the larger men arranged themselves in a threatening posture. In response, Jase raised his hands. He felt certain that he could overcome these four men – with some serious effort - but he didn't want to; he wanted them as allies. “Don't engage me,” he warned. “I don't mean you any harm.”

A look of disdain passed over one man's face, and Jase recognized an instant before the man moved that the large, muscular soldier considered Jase's statement a challenge. They wouldn’t want to risk deploying their weapons and attracting the military, so the battle would be hand-to-hand.

Almost without thinking, Jase sidestepped the larger and slower man, striking the back of the man's knees as he passed and gripping the man's head in a death grip.

“Neither of us wants attention,” Jase explained casually. “I could kill him if I want, but I really just want information.”

The three remaining soldiers placed their hands to their holstered guns, but Jase pleaded with them. If Thet was right about these men's identities, then Jase needed to persuade them, not coerce them. “We can exchange information. If you agree, I can offer you something you want. Wouldn't you like to know about an arms deal going down in this city, the military buying weapons?”

Two of the men lowered their hands, but the remaining man pulled his gun from its sheath, aiming it toward Jase's face.

“Why are you here?” the man leveled coolly, his hand showing no signs of a nervous shake. Jase had no doubt that the man would shoot him if he didn't provide a good answer.

“I think a man from my country is in your town right now, and if I’m right, he intends to sell some powerful military equipment to your government.”

“It's true,” one of the other men acknowledged. “I have heard rumors that our government seeks nuclear materials, and Snr-Gen called the workers to his palace earlier this week.”

Jase did not betray any shock at the word nuclear, though he doubted that Bill had access to that type of weaponry. Regardless, in a country like Myanmar, the greatest enemies lay within. No self-interested party would attack its own people with nuclear resources, instead trading for small arms to be used against citizens.

Just as likely, the official could have dealings with the opium cartels or the Indian terrorists that held enclaves throughout the country. Certainly, a deal with either of those groups would prove lucrative for a corrupt government official – which meant most government agents in the country.

“You see,” Jase bluffed. “If you stop me, then your government just might get nuclear weapons. And that man that you're trying to free,” Jase gestured down the hill to the house-prison that he had passed earlier. “That man may never get out of that hole. The government might just kill him. They will have no motive to negotiate.”

The leader lowered his gun, and Jase relaxed a little.

“What do you need to know?” the man offered a bit reluctantly.

“I need to know where a wealthy government agent, maybe this Snr-Gen, would conduct business.”

Nodding, the spokesman motioned to a large, square-faced man with a simple expression.

“Htwe,” the leader called to one of his subordinates. Jase watched as the leader and the man exchanged a series of words after which Htwe came to Jase's side.

Finally, the leader returned his gaze to Jase. “Would you please release my soldier?” the man asked deferentially, and Jase grew aware that he still held his initial attacker in a state of incapacitation. Much longer and the man would pass out from restricted oxygen flow.

“Of course,” Jase allowed, though he didn't admit the mindlessness that had held his arm against the man's neck. Slowly, Jase released the man, and the leader immediately barked a sharp command. The large soldier rose gracefully and backed away from Jase, genuflecting as he crept backwards. Even in the circumstances, Jase had to stifle a smirk.

“Htwe will show you how you can find this man you seek. How did you find us?”

“I was brought here by a humble man who believed that you could help. He said you could help me leave the country if I need, but I don't need that. I need to see the government man.”

“Yes, Thet told you. The rat works for us sometimes, but he can't stand with us so he runs away.” Behind the sneer in the leader's voice, Jase noted a hint of appreciation for Thet. Turning back to Jase the leader said, “We will help you find the man. And if you change your mind, you can flee from there. We will not help you escape.”

An instant later, Jase’s guide pressed through the brush that lapped at the dusty yard. Coldly, Jase proceeded with his task, following the green and black camouflaged man through the thickly brushed forest of low-hanging trees. The cool humid air clung to Jase’s skin and tried to seep through his clothes, but Jase ignored the shiver that threatened. If he betrayed weakness to the man before him, all aid would stop.

Jase had no guarantee that his guide would lead him anywhere near Bill's expected meeting, but he felt certain that the insurgents at least knew the location of the government's usual activities.

If Jase chased the power, eventually he would find Bill. After about seventy minutes, Jase's guide halted abruptly. The sun had just begun to set, and the moisture that had clung to him began to bring on a clammy coldness.

“Very soon, we will reach the grounds of the government's compound,” his guide informed him.

“Great,” Jase began. “Thank you...”

His guide interrupted him.

“If what you say is true, then you will need more than that gun that you carry to overcome your enemy.” the man called Htwe asserted. “With this we can help...”

“I'm not letting you come with me. This is not a political battle for me, and your presence will complicate my mission.”

Htwe nodded. “But your mission will help us combat the military powers. I offer you not men, but weapons.”

With those words, Htwe pushed aside a dense clump of brush to reveal a yawning gap in the earth, about four feet tall and three feet wide: the entrance to an underground cave.

With his free hand, the man gestured Jase into the chasm. Every hair on Jase's body stood on end as he considered the ambush that might await him inside that hole. Still, he felt confident that his escort did indeed hate the government, and the man seemed to believe Jase's story.

Intrepidly, Jase lowered one foot into the opening.

“You are very brave,” Htwe complimented as he followed Jase into the dark mouth of the tunnel.

“Or a fool,” Jase corrected, stepping aside to give Htwe the lead.

Htwe grinned.

“We have grenades and rocket launchers, and we have tear-gas and smoke-bombs. Obviously, we have guns. We have some other weapons, too, but they require transport, and you will have only yourself to carry them.”

When the narrow corridor opened into a roomy cavern, Jase almost laugh with giddiness. This room held any arm he might desire for a mission, almost as well-stocked as the team, albeit less technologically advanced.

Of course, chances were, he would need to resort to hand to hand much more than ballistics. There were no silencers in the stocks, so he might get one or two shots from the gun at close range before he was mowed down by the no-doubt plentiful guns of the military leader. “I'm not intending to kill people,” Jase explained. “Just a quick in and out to retrieve my target. Your only advantage in helping me is that your enemy will not get the weapons.”

“It is enough,” Htwe acknowledged. “Take what you need, and I will show you something even better.”

After picking up a gun, some zip ties, and a couple of knives, and shoving some smoke bombs into a pack that Htwe provided, Jase followed his guide's instructions to round a nearby corner. Before them now lay three tunnels leading Jase knew not where.

“You have a lot more space here than I would have expected,” he stated.

“The tunnel to the left goes into another room where we store our heavier equipment. It has a false roof, and we have equipment over head that lifts it to the outside.”

Jase wondered if he hadn't stumbled upon a coup attempt in the making. Sure, he knew that the men he had encountered hated the government, but this level of preparation bespoke a more comprehensive plan than Jase would have expected. Plus their proximity to government facilities intimated a strategic positioning of forces.

“Promise me that you will not interfere with my plans tonight,” Jase begged, turning to face his new companion. Jase wanted to retrieve Bill, not to lose his life in an unrelated political war.

“We are not yet prepared for our great battle,” Htwe assured Jase. “We have endured the oppression too long to grow impatient. Until our leader says to fight, we will content ourselves with preparation and training.”

Nodding, Jase turned back and continued to follow the path where Htwe had directed him, while Htwe explained the second tunnel.

“The middle tunnel leads to our rations. If we must retreat underground for a time, we can live here for several months.”

“How many are you?” Jase wondered.

“About 2,000,” Htwe surprised him. “And we are only in this area. In other regions, we total about 10,000 soldiers, some from the junta's own troops.”

“Impressive.”

“We have found spies among us, but we punish as harshly as the government, and it deters others from following their path.”

Jase tried not to imagine the types of punishment Htwe described; desperate men often committed desperate acts, and the despotic regime in Myanmar had created many desperate men.

“Right now, we are under the lake,” Htwe informed Jase, and despite his usual resolve, Jase had to suck in a fortifying breath. He felt no confidence in the crude beams that buttressed the rude dirt walls of the tunnel, and the occasional trickle of pebbles down from above added to his unease.

“Only fifty more feet, and we will be inside the compound.”

A weight lifted off Jase's shoulders at this news. No wonder Htwe seemed enthusiastic with his good tidings. Not only had the risk of trusting these men paid off in information, it had promoted Jase's tactical advantage. He now felt confident of maintaining stealth and successful infiltration, two things that always proved invaluable in a mission.

A few seconds later, the pair climbed a gradual incline, and Jase could make out a crude, wooden lid, nailed roughly together and with thatch sticking through around the edges.

“I will not follow you once you leave the tunnel,” Htwe explained. “When you exit, you will see to the northeast a large, low building with minimal light. We are inside the fence, but not so near as to risk accidental discovery. I pray the fathers will watch over you.”

“Thank you,” Jase returned, offering a gentle bow of gratitude.

As Jase raised the barrier to approach his goal, Htwe's final words rang in his ears. Before him lay about two hundred yards of solitary twilight that he must traverse before he could conquer the war of conscience that he had begun two months before.

I pray the fathers will watch over you... The strange animals in the grass around him croaked and chirped, the air hung moist like goblets of grassy dew, and all of Jase's certainty evaporated into an intangible mist behind him. Within a few moments, he would know his fate, and he could not predict how it would end.

Still, facing the darkness of a future that he had never anticipated, Jase could no longer doubt his course. He took a moment to listen for Meg's voice, but he had a feeling that he had heard the last of Meg. At some point, he had finally merged her thoughts with his own, probably when he had forced himself to admit that he wanted to change things.

Peering into the murky evening, though, he couldn't help but doubt his own ability to pull it off. Meg's words came back to him...you have the chance to make a sweep forward with a bevy of searchlights. Plus, he reminded himself, if I get Bill, I make Nessa safe. If I die, I do the same. What ghost of his conscience had suddenly taken solid enough form in his mind to alter his course?

Well, he might not be certain that he could save all the people whose eyes had haunted him, but he could save one. He felt an intellectual disdain for the idea that his actual ancestors watched over him in some way, but maybe all the superstitious people who believed so had experienced something like his Meg's voice?

If he hadn't paired his experience with a knowledge of psychology, he might have considered her a “spirit from the past.” Still, he had begun to wonder over the last few weeks if Meg had really spawned from a mix of chemicals in his brain. Though he had always denied the possibility in the past, maybe some benevolent Force directed his steps after all - maybe using Meg as a tool.

Jase had grown tired of the years of solitary darkness that had comprised his life for the bulk of his existence. Maybe he would like to think that he wasn't alone as he crept toward a dangerous confrontation.

Jase laughed at his sentimentality.

Still, walking through the dense brush, Jase prayed. He prayed that the battle against this darkness would end his isolation, that he could lay to rest the demons that he had created. He had no illusions; he would bear responsibility for his indifference until the day he died, but maybe he could make restitution.

Or if not, maybe just acknowledging his own sins would loosen the grip of his past guilt. Maybe the unseen Director of his destiny had brought him here on purpose, to test his desire to change, to scour him clean of his ambivalence and give him a purpose and a hope.

As he crossed the last few yards to the ring of light cast by the weak lamps of the compound, Jase continued his perhaps futile exercise in supplications, not for his own salvation, but for a way to save those who had suffered unjustly by his apathy.

And if he came through the solitary darkness alive, he felt certain that his new life would prove some form of rebirth. Meg, Nessa, Briel, Nick, even Felicity, had brought him to the moment in which he would risk his own demise for the sake of others.

The people that he had encountered recently had provided for him an example of what love could entail and what it, and as much as he hated the sentimentality of the thought, he would literally have sold his soul to gain the kind of significance that he had witnessed in them. He would have sold his soul to become the kind of man who could deserve it.