Chapter 16 war that never broke out

Because he missed the usual train back to Reading, Rand went to the Kirin Bar near Paddington Railway Station to take a break and have a glass of beer.He didn't care about the middle-aged man with a ruddy face standing next to him, he just thought he needed to shave.When the man tapped him on the shoulder, he was actually almost finishing his beer and thinking about catching the next train home.The man asked, "Did you ever fight, brother?" Rand replied politely: "World War II? I was too young to hold public office during the Cold War." "I'm not talking about those wars, I'm talking about the one I fought in."

Rand guessed that he might be around forty-five years old, and asked, "Was it the Frankland War or the Persian Gulf War?" The man shook his head, and Rand noticed that he had drunk quite a bit.Their breath smelled of alcohol. "Neither, I was flying a fighter-bomber during the Ayers Rock War in 1993." "What war?" The man seemed to realize that he had talked too much.He shook his head vigorously and said, "Top secret. It shouldn't be talked about." "Australia's Ayers Rock, right? There's never any war there." The man had a sly look on his face.He looked around and said in a low voice, "They're covering it up. Buy me a beer and I'll tell you."

Rand glanced over.The next bus to Reading was half an hour away.It was a good way to pass the time, and he would have something interesting to talk to Leila over dinner. "Of course," he replied, "let's find a place to talk. There's still a little time before I get in the car." They took their respective beers to a table, and the last group of customers had just left, and the table was still wet.Then Rand noticed that the man was a little lame.Coming to the table, Rand sat down across from him, noticing the fear and distaste for war on his face. "My name is Chat Wallis. How about you?"

Rand made up a temporary name to deal with it: "My name is Jeff. What is the abbreviation of Charter?" "Chatterton. Traditionally educated family. They think I'll be Prime Minister someday. But I'm just a mercenary fighting for the highest bidder." "Tell me about the Ayers Rock War," Rand urged. "When did that happen?" "Six years ago," he replied immediately, "in the summer of 1993. Oh, it was very hot in July that year. I remember sweating before I took off. On March 21, we flew six Russian jets, The kind with bazookas and petrol bombs under the wings."

"What is your goal?" "Well, I can tell you it's not a sheep." "sheep?" "Australia has a lot of sheep, so they use helicopters to graze them. You know, that's a problem too." Rand shook his head and said, "I think you'd better start at the beginning. Who are you fighting with? Australia?" He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "Of course not! We fought with the Australians, not against them. It was caused by the resistance of the local Aboriginal people, and more than 100,000 Aboriginal people claimed to pay with their blood. They occupied Alice Springs, others encroached on outback townships and established their headquarters at Ayers Rock. That sandstone monolith is almost the center of Australia. It is a sacred place for the local Aboriginal people. They call it Ulu Lu. The Australians fought as hard as they could, but in the end they needed our help."

"Fight against unarmed natives?" "Don't be silly, man! A lot of Aboriginal people have jobs, skills, and many are shepherds who have learned to fly. If Australian planes fly close to look for revolutionaries, suddenly there will be a bank of helicopters rising in front of them, blocking their path." Go out and launch heat-seeking missiles." Rand shook his head slightly. "Interesting thing is I've never heard of it. You said six years ago. How long did it last?" "Fifty hours after we arrived. Some call it the Battle of Fifty Hours because of that, but in the top secret files it's called the Battle of Ayers Rock."

"Aren't they reported on TV and news?" "Man, people don't get newspapers and TV to find out what's going on in the world. Things happen that you never dreamed about. Occasionally the public gets wind of something, but the chances are slim. Heard a newspaper publisher who learned After this battle, he was pushed from his yacht into the Mediterranean, and no one dared to touch it after that." One of the things that surprised Rand about Chat Wallis was that he didn't look crazy or delusional.There was no deranged madness in his eyes. "You're not talking about a political scandal or a sex scandal," he told Leith. "You're talking about a war. There must have been a lot of casualties."

"They told us there were over thirteen hundred native casualties, and we lost forty-four brothers. But it was a victory anyway." "You were flying a Russian fighter jet?" "A surplus of fighter-bombers from the war. We didn't leave any evidence and the UK didn't want to get involved. We were just there to help the Australians when they needed a quick settlement." "But you were in the RAF?" He shook his head in denial, "We're all just mercenaries. I make seven thousand dollars a month flying a plane. We've fought wars in several countries in Africa before. But our own officers train us and have our own planes, which are usually redundant Soviet MiG-23 fighter-bombers. Some countries are willing to pay us a million dollars a month in order to hire us."

"Where do third world countries get that money?" "Usually sponsored by the IMF. They don't want a long war that ruins the country's trade and economy." "Tell me more about the Ayers Rock War." "We attacked from the east at dawn, and they were all blinded by the sun's rays behind us. I remember them crawling like ants up the rock face that had been turned orange by the sun. They wanted to hide in the crevices of the rock, But we swept by like a giant wave, first strafing them and then throwing Molotov cocktails to smoke them out of their holes."

Rand could no longer hear this disgusting story.He suddenly looked at his watch and decided to leave: "I have to go for a ride. It's a pleasure to chat with you." "Come back tomorrow," said Chat Wallis hastily, "and I'll tell you more." At the dinner table that night, when he told Layla the man in the club, she advised him: "You should stay away from those pubs, or you should never go to London." Because Leila was a lecturer at the University of Reading, she rarely went to the city to hunt for novelties.Only when there was a rare show or concert in town and they all wanted to go would she stay with Rand.She always disapproved of Rand's occasional visits to London pubs or to visit friends. "You're going to get in trouble every time you go." She'd already said that when he took on the assignment from the Old Spy Club.

Rand assured her: "I'm not in any trouble. I just had a drink with him, and I'll probably never run into him again." "War of Ayers Rock!" sniffed Layla. "Who ever heard of this? Are you talking about Australia or Britain launching massive air raids on their people and the world's press ignoring it? That's a A racial war with 1,300 casualties, but in 1993, can it be concealed?" "Central Australia is a very barren, sparsely populated place. How many people would go to Ayers Rock?" "Lots of people, Geoffrey. Have you ever heard of tourists? They drive up to Ayers Rock and usually camp near the rock. There are people around there anyway. It's a place of interest. That man must be crazy You can find people like this everywhere, especially in London," she continued with a smile, "probably because the millennium is coming." He laughed along with her and changed the subject. But the next morning he found himself thinking about Chat Wallis, a veteran of a war that never broke out. Rand didn't tell Layla that he was back in London, he just left a note telling her he'd be home later and took the early train.Rand knew it was unrealistic to expect to see Wallis again, but he had a feeling that the man would keep his word and show up at the bar again.At about one o'clock, he sat in the same box as yesterday and ordered a sandwich and a pint, but the Ayers Rock veteran hadn't shown up yet. Thirty-five minutes later, the man appeared at the door, still looking like he hadn't shaved in a long time.He stayed there until his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the bar.Then, like he'd known Rand would be there, he limped over to his desk. "Hello, buddy. Nice to meet you." "I was thinking about what you told me yesterday." Wallis looked down at Rand's half-empty glass and said, "I can't talk when I'm thirsty." "Of course." Rand gestured to the usher—a lively young girl with short brown hair. "You know, there's a lot of stuff in your story that doesn't make sense. Why don't you tell me and not the tabloid reporters, and they'll pay you." "I mentioned it to a reporter once. He thought it would be better to turn my story into an alien abduction case — a spaceship landing near Ayers Rock or something." "Perhaps he's right." Chat Wallis shrugged. "I told him I'd take a polygraph test, but he wasn't interested." "Wait. You said you'd be willing to take a lie detector test to prove you actually participated in the Ayers Rock War?" "Of course! Damn it, this is my life." It was a crazy idea, but Rand had to get to the bottom of it. "Look, I know a woman who gives polygraph tests to new hires in sensitive positions in the private sector. If I ordered a polygraph test and paid for it, would you take the test?" The man squinted at him: "You don't believe me, do you? No one believes me." "Her name is Sophie Gold. I'll give her a call." Rand walked to the pay phone on the wall and found Sophie's number in his address book.He had known her briefly before his retirement from the Covert Communications Agency, before the closure of the department.They talked on the phone and sometimes had lunch when he was in London.The moment she answered the phone, he recognized her voice. "Guide Technology, Sophie Gaode is at your service." "Sophie, this is Rand. How are you doing?" "It couldn't be better. Are you in the city?" "Only for a few hours. Are you still taking polygraph tests?" "More than before. I've bought a second instrument and hired an assistant to operate it." "I want to bring someone over, but I don't know if I have time this afternoon." "Are you in a hurry?" "There's no rush, but I want to bring him over for testing before he changes his mind." "I'll check my appointment book, I might be free." After a while, she came back and said, "Isn't four-thirty late?" "How long will the test take?" "Usually, it's almost an hour from preparation to asking relevant questions." "I'll make an appointment at 4:30, Sophie. I'll call you back if he doesn't want to." Rand returned to the table and said, "We can have the test today between four-thirty and five-thirty, if we can." "Of course, why not? After all these years, it's great to finally have someone who believes in me." It was two hours before four-thirty, and Rand had no intention of spending time in the bar.He told Wallis: "I'm going to see some friends, can we meet at this address at four-thirty?—Charing Cross, just down the road from the National Portrait Gallery." "I'll be there," he promised, "at four-thirty." Knowing that this might be the last time they would see each other, Rand left the bar and took a taxi to the nondescript Government House, overlooking the Thames from above, which had once housed the Secret Communications Agency.The original group of old guys are now scattered all over the place, some have passed away, some have retired, and some have been transferred to other departments, and they are also doing the work of encoding and decoding information through microchips.He remembered the room full of young girls sitting in rows at desks, easily deciphering the enemy's latest code.Indeed, women are better at this than men.But none of that existed anymore, the building was now part of the Ministry of Trade, but here he still had an old friend or two. Registered for the visit at the lobby reception, and everywhere was less heavily guarded than before.The workers here deal with trade balances, not codes and ciphers.Brent Foxwell was one of many people who barely made it to retirement age. He stood up from behind his overstuffed desk and said, "Nice to meet you, Rand." "It's always a pleasure seeing us, Brent. I've got over an hour, and it's best spent with old friends." "How's Layla?" Brent was younger than Rand, but he was balding and putting on weight, and he was starting to look old. "She was nice and taught archeology at the University of Reading. Sometimes I think she's going to marry me because I look like an old bone." They continued to reminisce about the old days and chatted for about ten minutes.Rand then turned the topic to the topic he wanted to talk about. "Dealing with import and export must be boring, not as fun as it used to be." "No fun is all I want," said Brent, lighting his old pipe. "Do you also do business with Commonwealth countries? Like Australia?" "Of course, all the trade there." "I heard that the riots in 1993 had a big impact." Brent frowned. "Riot? What's that?" "I remember it was provoked by the local natives." He smiled and shook his head. "It's never happened there. Maybe you saw the Zulus on TV and dreamed about them at night." "Possibly," Rand agreed, "but I got it from a fella named Wallis." "Chatterton Wallis? The crippled man? That man is insane, war-affected perhaps. He should be locked up." "Have you dealt with him?" "Long ago, I was surprised he was still around." After twenty minutes of aimless banter and jokes, he left.Pausing only to look out the window at the river, he said to Brent: "It's always a great view here." Once out the door he walked across Westminster Bridge towards Whitehall to Trafal Plus Square, then walk through San Martin Square, which is selling handicrafts.It was not half past four when he saw Sophie Gold's house at Charing Cross, and was surprised to find that Chat Wallis was waiting for him there. "I came early, it's a habit I got in the army," he said. "It's okay, let's go up." When she worked with Rand, Sophie Gold was small, with curly tan hair pulled into a spirited ponytail.In the past few years, she has gained some weight, but she is still as energetic as before.She greeted him with a professional handshake, and glanced at Wallis: "This is my lie detector subject?" "Sophie Gold, this is Chat Wallis. He told me an interesting but unbelievable story, and he's willing to take the test to prove it to me." Rand walked past Wallis quickly. To the point of the story, Wallis also provided some personal information so she could ask questions.Wallis waited in the lobby while they worked on the inquiry list. Just before five o'clock, he sat in a chair by the machine, all bound with string, like the unfortunate prey of a spider."Come on, let's get this over with," Wallis urged. "Very good." Sophie fiddled with the record pointer, starting from the questions on the questionnaire.At this time Rand stood behind Wallis, watching the situation. "Your name is Chatterton Wallis?" "yes." "You were born in Liverpool on April 25, 1952?" "yes." "Have you ever been to Russia?" "No." "Have you ever been to Australia?" "yes." "Have you ever been a mercenary for a foreign government?" "yes." "Have you ever killed someone?" "yes." "Were you ever in the Royal Navy?" "no." "Have you ever been to Africa?" "yes." "Go as a mercenary?" "yes." "You came to Australia in July 1993?" "yes." "Are you going to be a mercenary?" "yes." "Have you ever fought an Australian native?" "yes." The questions went on monotonously, covering Ayers Rock, the Dawn Assault, the number of people involved, his training and commissions, and the unmarked plane.Half an hour passed, and Sophie was still asking questions.It was almost six o'clock when they finished.She spent some time quietly analyzing the coordinate graph, marking the answers to some questions, and then came to Rand with the results. "You know, a lie detector is an extremely simple device. That's why its analysis is not accepted in court. But based on what we've seen, I have to tell you that this man is telling the truth." "I knew you would say that." "Will that complicate your job?" "It's not a job," he said, writing her a check. "It's just a man in a bar with a story that I had to listen to. Anyway, thanks for your help, Sophie." "Willing to work for you." Rand and Chat Wallis walked downstairs together.The red-faced man asked, "Did I pass the test?" "You know." "Then I can ask the government for a medal." "I wouldn't," Rand thought suddenly, "tell me about the other pilots you fought with, what happened to them?" "Hire pilots go wherever the money is. Some of them go back to Africa, and some die there." "Have you kept in touch with any of them?" "No. Since I started telling about Ayers Rock, the company didn't want me to go back. But there's one guy I run into occasionally in London. Rex Ryan. He's out of the Army with a back injury." "About Ayers Rock, does he remember the same as you?" Wallis shrugged. "Then you'll have to ask him. He doesn't talk about it often." "Where does he live?" "I don't know, I only meet him occasionally at the club." "Which club is it?" "Soldier of Destiny. It's the company that hired us. They opened a club on Pengqiao Road." They strolled all the way back to Trafal Square, past the pigeons.At this time, a short man with protruding eyes suddenly appeared in front of them and handed out a leaflet. "Get one, my friend, the best show in town." With that, he thrust a copy into Chat Wallis' hands. Wallis took one look at the ad for a strip club with ropes on it, crumpled it up and threw it away. "It's the same place." Rand noticed a drop of blood oozing from the tip of his thumb. "Have you cut your hand yet?" "Maybe it's paper," Wallis said nonchalantly. "I still want to see you in the future, how can I contact you?" Wallis hesitated for a while and said, "Celester, the hostess at the Unicorn Club, she's my girlfriend. If I'm not there, you can ask her to bring a message." They parted near Charing Cross, and Rand took a taxi to Paddington Station.There's so much to ponder about Chat Wallis already.Could it be that this man lives on another planet, or is he really hiding a big secret?Either way was ridiculous, and Rand even began to regret the glass of wine he drank at the Kirin Bar. The next morning, Leila reminded him of a small headline in the Times. "That man you met in the bar, did you say his name was Chatterton or something?" "Chatterton Wallis, what's the matter?" "He's dead. Collapsed by the Thames yesterday evening, apparently of a heart attack." Rand took the newspaper from her and read it.They did not conduct further analysis of Wallis' cause of death.Although there was no time, the location judged that he and Rand died within minutes of parting ways.At this moment he suddenly thought of the blood between Wallis' fingers and the little man holding the flyer. "My God, Layla, they killed him!" "What did you say?" "Crowded streets, a poisoned needle, that's enough." "They because of the crazy stories that man told?" "Probably because that story wasn't crazy. Probably because he took a lie detector test and passed." Layla came over and took his hand. "Jeffrey, promise me you won't get involved. No matter what happens, you can't help him. If the government gets involved..." "They killed him, Layla. They were terrified because he told me that story." "You're not sure of that." "I have to find out the truth. Wallis mentioned two people, another mercenary named Rex Ryan, and Celeste, a bartender at the Kirin Bar. They should be able to tell something. I Gotta go in the morning." "on Saturday?" "The people behind the scenes don't take weekends off." "Be careful," was all she could say at last. For several consecutive days, Rand took the morning train to London, and today was the third time.This time he went directly to Qilin Bar, although it was just after eleven o'clock, and it had just opened.A short brown-haired waitress was wiping glasses, and he thought she might be Celeste. "Come right away," she told him. "I don't drink, are you Celeste?" She paused, turned, and said, "You and Chater were here yesterday." "I read the bad news in the newspaper." She nodded, "He has many problems, but I didn't know he also had heart problems." "He told me a rather crazy story." Rand tentatively asked. "He's always like that." "I think he had a fatal heart attack yesterday not long after we parted. He said that if he wanted to see him in the future, he could come to you first. He said you were her girlfriend." Her purple eyes dimmed, and she shook her head, tears on the verge of falling, "I can't see him now." "I know, but I have to know more about him. I don't even know where he lives." "When he's not traveling or just hanging out in town, he sometimes lives with me," she admits. "Did he tell you about Australia?" "He could tell anyone who would listen. Who would believe a war with the natives at Ayers Rock?" "I would," Rand replied, "or, at least I believe and think it's true," he decided to have an honest talk with her, "Look, Celeste, I think Charter might have been murdered." , because he made too many references to the Battle of Ayers Rock." "Murder? The papers say he died of a heart attack." "I've studied counterintelligence. There are several poisons that have fatal symptoms very similar to heart attacks. They've been used before." She shook her head, unwilling to believe what she heard, "Don't tell me that, I don't want to hear it anymore." Rand sighed, "I'm not here to make you sad, I just want to find out the truth. Has Chat ever mentioned a comrade named Rex Ryan to you?" "Rex? Of course! They're great friends. Jesus, he should know!" "Can you tell me where he lives?" She shook her head. "I only saw him and Chater when they were here, just a few times." "Charter told me yesterday that I can reach him through a company, Fighters of Destiny." "Probably. I never asked about those things. I even hate hearing what they're doing. Hate them fighting people for money." When some guests came in, the conversation stopped, and he promised her to let her know of any news.Rand left the Kirin Bar and took a taxi to the location of the Fate Fighter Company.He thought it would be a modern office building with a map of the battleground on the wall.What he found instead was a club with televisions, a card room, and a pool room.There were only a few men at noon, all at least ten years younger than Rand. One of them asked, "Are you a member? This is a private club." "I'm looking for Rex Ryan." "He's not here, haven't seen him for weeks." "It's important, it's Chat Wallis' business." "I don't know, can't help you, brother. Maybe Rex's out of the country." Rand produced a business card with his home phone number on it. "If he comes, can he call me? It's important to tell him." "No problem!" He said, stuffing his business card into his trouser pocket.Rand left thinking Rex might never see the card. There were no taxis outside the club, so he walked north on Portobello Road.He hailed a car, and as soon as he got into the car, a man pushed him inside and got into the car.Rand just opened his mouth to refuse, but he signaled him not to speak. "I'm Rex," he whispered, "why do you want to see me?" "Were you at the club just now?" "Where are you going?" the driver interrupted them. "We'll get off at the next corner." Rand suddenly decided.He didn't want the driver to hear their conversation.But he forgot that it was a Saturday, and they found themselves on Portobello Road, filled with customers shopping for antiques and second-hand goods of all kinds at the market. Ryan, a small man with a gray crew cut, asked, "Do you want to talk to me alone?" Rand smiled sadly, "Sometimes the safest place is where there are many people. Why don't you show up at the club?" "I don't want to show up recently." "You know Wallis is dead?" "yes." "I think he was murdered." "I think so." "By whom?" Rand asked. "People in the government, they are afraid that the truth will be leaked." "Is it the Battle of Ayers Rock?" Ryan nodded, "Yes." "But there was no Battle of Ayers Rock at all." "For some people it is." "Where? Another world?" "Don't ask, or you'll be the second one to get wiped out. He talked to you about it. Last year he was chatting from the Kirin bar and was hit by a car on his way home. The car hit He just ran away and he's been limping since. I thought it was a warning to shut him up, but he didn't take it." "His girlfriend Celeste said he told everyone." "But you were the first to believe him." "No," Rand corrected, "I believe what he believes. But how can he fight a war that never broke out?" Rex Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "I fought that battle too." "Tell me quickly." Crowds came from all directions.Families pushed their way through the crowd, together with a young girl with dyed green hair and a nose ring, to the stall.Rand and Ryan moved as far as they could to get out of the way, but the conversation was cut short. They stood in the doorway of a store to avoid the crowd before Rex Ryan began to tell: "If it hadn't happened to Chater, I would never talk to anyone about it. He was a good guy. It should have ended like this.” "Tell me quickly." He sighed and began to tell how all this time they had been standing by the door watching people of all colors mingling in the Portobello market, as they did every Saturday. "We were fighting in Africa, and one of the newly independent countries was looking for a way out. We flew over to help. Then the contract was terminated and the soldiers of fate called us back to London. It was the summer of 1993..." After they broke up, Rand called Brent Foxwell of the Bureau of Trade.He was away Saturday afternoon, but Rand insisted that the operator direct the call to his home. "What's the matter, Rand," Foxwell asked irritably when he answered the phone, "Only on the weekends will you be transferred to the house in case of emergency." "It was urgent. I just spoke to Rex Ryan and he told me the whole story." Foxwell complained softly, "Where are you?" "Portobello Road, can you come here?" "Tell me the address, I'll be right there." By the time Brent Foxwell arrived, the crowds on the road had only subsided a little.He parked his car on a side street and walked over, pushing past shoppers and shoppers until he saw Rand.His face flushed with anger when he stopped. "Who allowed you to intervene in government affairs?" He said while making sure that there were no eavesdroppers around. Rand laughed, "I didn't know that training private mercenaries was part of government affairs." "Ryan told you? He's as crazy as Chat Wallis." "Of course Wallis has neurological problems, but the root of the problem is the training your men put him in. I knew from the first conversation with Wallis that there was no Battle of Ayers Rock." He described July 1993 It was very hot in Australia. But it was winter in Australia. Even in the Barrens, the temperature did not exceed sixty degrees. Wherever that battle was fought, it was not July in Australia." "None of this has anything to do with me," Brent Foxwell waved his hand in denial, "I'm in business, remember?" "You said Wallis was crippled and that you hadn't seen him in years. But Ryan said he was crippled by the hit-and-run incident last year. You know it well and maybe you planned it. " Foxwell said disdainfully: "Rand, you always make rash judgments." "This is not a judgment, this is a fact. Rex Lai'an told me everything. Trade with emerging African countries is very important to our country. In order to consolidate the stability of African powers, you train mercenaries to fight for them." "Maybe," Foxwell admitted. "What's wrong with that? These mercenaries are paid by the International Monetary Fund to support these operations. We used standard training techniques." "Some of the training is not standardized. Ryan said that the mercenaries wear special headsets and handles to simulate real situations. They fly fighter-bombers in a three-dimensional computer-generated space. This is so real that some people can't accept it, such as Chat Wallis. He was trained to believe he fought back against the natives at Ayers Rock. Of course the Soldiers of Fate fired him, but that doesn't stop him from talking about it until he's dead." They walked on the crowded street, and occasionally heard the cries of vendors. "It happens in any kind of training," Foxwell began his defense. "It was a disaster for Wallis, but there was nothing we could do about it. You can imagine the stress that story created if anyone started to believe him. Just from a racial standpoint..." He shook his head sadly, "trust me, there's only one possible solution to what happened to Chat Wallis." "But why are you citing Aboriginal Australians in your simulation?" The balding man turned to him, "Don't you understand, these mercenaries are fighting blacks in Africa! We have to simulate similar enemies in our training. We can't use a specific African country, so we created the Australian Aboriginal uprising." Then Rand saw a short man with bulging eyes coming towards them from among Saturday's speculators.The only way to deal with Chat Wallis is to deal with Rand. "Take a look, man," urged the man, his voice still echoing in Trafalgar Square, as he handed over a leaflet. "Best deals on Portobello Street!" It took only a second for Rand to shove Brent Foxwell, knocking him off balance and falling toward the little man's outstretched hand.Foxwell took a deep breath, the pain was nothing more than a needle prick. "Didn't you used to work with Brent Foxwell?" Layla asked him as she read The Times on Sunday breakfast. "I think so," Rand replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "He had a heart attack yesterday in Portobello Street, just like another guy you know." Rand shook his head sadly: "It seems that we are living under heavy pressure."