Lottery Dreams Ch. 11: The World as..

Chapter 11: The World As Nightmare

The next morning he was about to go down for breakfast when he took one last look at the website. Looking at a list of other deals the law firm had proudly carried out, was one contract that looked familiar to Charley. On searching for its corresponding web page, he found nothing. So he went to the Google search engine and tried a general search.

There was a name Charley was familiar with. It was the name of Mammon transport.

The very same firm that had taken their old guillotine to the other side of the world.

"What the hell is going on?" Charley said to himself, as he looked out the window at Hong Kong.

When Charley came downstairs to meet Gerald, he detected an air of change. Gerald was an open-faced man, but he was clearly bothered by something now. He would not talk about it, so Charley did not press him. But as they walked to the jet he felt uneasy. Almost as if he knew he should not get on that plane.

He did all the same, and they travelled in silence to their next destination. This was where Charley was certain the guillotines now lay, and although he had no idea what he would do once he got there, Charley just knew he had to see them again. He could hardly get down on his hands and knees and begin ripping the covers off the sides. But if he could get close enough, maybe, he could buy the old junk from someone?

Sure enough, he would certainly see them again.

The plane touched down, and everything seemed normal. They had landed on a little strip only used for commercial traffic and well off the tourist trail. Charley had gone so far into the research, that he knew exactly what it was.

A little island off the mainland, it had once been a military staging post. Now disused, it had been used for the Vietnamese boat people for a while. To house the overspill from Hong Kong. The authorities had faced so much trouble there, that they had folded to Red Cross pressure and closed the camps. The boat people had all been sent back now, so the place should have been empty. Charley knew that various shipping companies were using it as a sort of bonded warehouse. To wait for currencies to go up or down before they moved the goods.

It was to this spot that Mammon had sent their containers from France. Here, waiting for a factory in China to start up, and begin production. Then the containers would be unpacked, and a new business would emerge.

Charley was keen to get started on that fateful morning. Laughing with Gerald, that they should get out of the hot sun as soon as possible. He was just walking down a row of rusty shipping containers when he stopped. Charley looked around and saw no one. Gerald was enthusiastic for him to find the container he wanted, and had cleared it with the men at the airport, so they could wander around as they pleased. But when Charley watched their Lear jet take off from the airstrip, he knew something was wrong.

Gerald did at least leave him his suitcase, that was thoughtful of him. But Charley just stood there and watched the aircraft climb higher into the sky. Arching into the sun and back to Hong Kong.

"Why?" was all he said.

As he looked down, Charley surveyed his new world. The sun was beating down, and he was growing thirsty with worry.

A white man walked up to him in a military uniform. He was a bullet-headed, bald man with a mean attitude and an evil glint in his eye.

"Now that you have joined us, get your ass out of the sun!" In a gruff American accent, he motioned to a row of run-down cabins.

"Would you mind telling me, just what the hell is going on here?" Charley wondered if it had all been a mistake, and Gerald was coming back for him.

"Look bud, we have been told to keep you here."

"What?"

"I don't know why and I don't care. My name is Rufus, my friends called me bastard, and I run this place. You can either play with us or against us. I don't care which." Rufus stood there, hands-on-hips, and stared at Charley. His patience was clearly running out.

"What is this place?" asked Charley looking round.

"A holiday camp for comedians. Now get!" Rufus was angry that Charley should question his opinions and marched up to him. Picking up his suitcase, he took Charley by the arm and frog marched him over to the buildings.

Charley was too stunned to take offence. What was going on?

"Would you mind telling me, where my friend Gerald has got to? You know, the man on the plane?"

"He's left you here for a long holiday." Rufus had arrived at the buildings, where he was met by several of his friends. Also dressed in the khaki drill uniforms, they found it all amusing, as one of them opened the door for Charley to be thrown inside.

He landed on the floor beside his suitcase and looked around. The place was filled with frightened faces. All looking at him sitting in the middle of the floor, almost as if they were waiting for Charley to give them a sign.

"Don't think much to the hospitality," laughed Charley picking himself up. "I shall definitely ask them to be taken off the Rough Guide."

"You got any cigarettes?" asked one lean and hungry-looking boy.

"Sorry, don't smoke. Got some chocolate, although it's somewhat melted." Charley found the bar of dark chocolate and handed it out. He did not know why he was being so generous, as he would not have been under normal circumstances. And certainly would not have done so, if he had been back at Cobol. Which brought him right back down to earth.

"What is this place?"

"The asshole of the world," replied the boy, devouring his piece of chocolate, after handing the rest to his comrades.

"I've already been there. Only this has sun."

"Where they catch you?" asked the boy.

"Would you believe it, if I told you I paid to come here?" laughed Charley.

"They trick you then? Lots of people got caught out by tricks?"

"Yeah, it looks like a trick."

Charley sat on the bench with the others, as the day wore on, and the heat built up.

Over the next few hours, he drew up an idea of what the place was, and why Rufus was put in charge of it. As the English speaking members of the ensemble told their tales, Charley nodded solemnly. Knowing in the back of his mind, that he had already drawn these conclusions during his research in Hong Kong.

It was simply a slave camp. The people were refugees, gathered from around the world in the quest to escape their homelands. Scooped up, and trapped here to work. The guillotines had been brought in from Cobol and other dying factories, so they could be put to good use here. Only in this camp, they did not have to pay any wages. No one knew about it. At least no one who would care enough to tell the outside world. So anything could go on here, and no one would be any the wiser.

Simply set up for the production of cheap merchandise, the slaves were here to make things that would be shipped back to the West, at knock-down prices. Bothered by the high cost of wages back home, and thrilled by the prospect of a cheap workforce on the other side of the world. The capitalist kings had begun killing two birds with one stone.

The increased flow of people around the globe worried them. What were they to do with all these souls? There was no work for them, and certainly no money. So where would they go?

The answer came in the form of sweatshops. These did have a nasty habit of being discovered by liberal do-gooders and then closed down. But the money men found that the further East you went, the less liberal became the investigations.

In the end, they found islands like this. Places, where the ruling governments would not only turn a blind eye but help whole heartily in the exploitation of the human race. There was no limit to the excesses these camps could endure.

Charley had even heard of camps where humans were used for testing instead of animals. Any amount of Dr Frankenstein's horrors were being committed, and all for money.

They would get off lightly, as they were here to work on the machines. The place was filled with people from all over the world. Frightened and silent, they sat in this hut looking at him, then out to the world beyond. They had travelled here to escape great poverty in their homelands, and maybe for some misguided notion of adventure. Charley had to admit that when he was younger, he had illusions of travelling the world. But he had become stuck in the factory.

Now he seemed to be stuck in another one and wondered how he was going to get out.

The old Charley would have sat there peeing in his pants, but all that had changed now. So he walked up to the door and banged on it. After several knocks, he realised that no one was going to answer and turned back.

After finding someone who spoke good enough English, he tried to put together a plan.

"When do we get out of here? I mean we aren't just trapped in here, are we? Waiting to die from the heat?"

"The guard comes round before dark and serves the food." Raj, an Afghan boy, making his way to Britain to become a film star, was the only one who would talk to Charley. The others were not hostile, but there was a feeling that he should not be here with them. "To serve food, and see if any of us have died." He ate the last of Charlie's chocolate.

"Died?"

"Yes, the work kills a few. Sometimes they die at the machines, or they find them dead in the morning," continued the boy.

"Jesus Christ, the world will go mad once it hears about this place," said Charley.

"How will they get to know?" the boy pointed out. "These places exist all over the world, all the time. Why will they feel sad about this one?"

"Because I'm here," said Charley.

"And who are you?"

"Someone famous enough to ransom."

Charley waited for the guard to come to the door and confront him.

"Look my good friend," Charley addressed the man. "I want to see this Rufus. Tell him I've got money."

With that, the man walked out, only to return, with the sneering Rufus behind him.

The wooden door slammed behind them as they stood in the middle of the yard, to listen to what Charley had to say.

"Whatever these people are paying you, I can double it." Charley waited in the cool of the evening for an answer.

"What makes you think you have any money left?" laughed Rufus.

"Trust me, I have money."

"All I know is that I received instructions, that you were coming here with your English pal, and he would leave you here." Rufus lit a cigarette, that glowed in the twilight.

"Leave me here? Why?" Charley demanded.

"Hell, why should I care. All I know is, this is where you stay, and I'm going to make damned sure you don't get out."

"Is there anybody else I can talk to? I can assure you it will be worth your while?"

"We are paid well here," continued Rufus. "And we sure as hell don't want to go talking to the outside world. So if you want to stay alive, I suggest that you find a bunk and join the other poor sons of bitches back there."

The conversation seemed to be coming to an end, and when one of the guards produced a pistol, Charley walked back.

Life in the camp settled down. The factory was set up, and some sort of production seemed to be underway. They were trying to punch out metal frames that would go in various pieces of furniture. With worrying familiarity, Charley could see how the whole operation was going. It was like a scene taken from his old life back at Cobol, to be transported back there.

Quickly he could see why the job was not working. Quite apart from the fact, that the men did not want to do it, there were bottlenecks in the production line.

"Could I make a suggestion?" asked Charley to the man appointed as the foreman.

The man threw down a spanner and walked off.

"I think he's given you the job if you want it." Raj stood beside him, as all the men looked on, and the machines stood idle.

"If they want me to help, I can?" said Charley.

"We are so far in the shit man, anything will help." Raj lit a cigarette and looked at the piles of steel all around them.

"If I wade in with a suggestion I might face a rebellion?"

"Rufus is going to start torturing some of us if we don't get this junk out. Believe me, he has some special methods of torture. So if you want to help, or know anything about this business, then this is the time to do it. Help us!" Raj was deadly serious as he looked at the surly guards at the factory door.

So Charley went around all the machines, and every part of the factory and asked them for their help. Raj spoke several languages, which impressed Charley, as he spoke only one. They gladly gave their help, and like most people held down by bullies, they club together. There was no love lost, and many divisions, but for now they agreed to do what Charley asked.

He got the clever ones to do the difficult jobs and put the rest on mass production. The really awkward ones were sent to distant parts of the factory, where they could do no harm. When a big problem arose, he would take idle people off the line to help solve the crisis. The popular men were put in charge of a section. They were there to supervise and not to join in the actual making of things.

At first, there was a lot of resentment. They did not take to a white man telling them what to do. It was bad enough with Rufus. But Charley had known 10 years of Eurco and knew how to stand up to bullies. No matter how evil.

The nights were long and hot, and the days were worse. Charley had handed out the contents of his suitcase in the first few days. Sharing his few Imodium pills with those who seemed to genuinely need them. Years of rough living in the factory back home had hardened him. Charley could stand the jippy tummies and aching sweats, as he knew how to switch off, mentally and just work on it. If you acquired an ache or a pain, you dealt with it yourself and did not complain. Blisters and bruises had to be looked at in an adult manner, and not as a childish niggle.

The men began to respect him for that, and soon the standards began to rise, and bruised egos, gave way to an understanding.

It would have all come to nothing, but for the fact, that at night, everything changed.

"Look, you all want to get out of here, right?" Charley addressed the gathered faces in the hut.

"You know they do," put in Raj, now his official number 2. "Don't play games man, we are at breaking point here."

"So let's think how we are going to do it. Back home I have money. Lots of money. When we get out of this, you can all have a share."

"Why are you giving it away?" They wanted to know. "Why are you doing us such a big favour?"

"Because I want to get back at the men who sent me here. I used to think that money was everything. Since I've been here, I want other things."

"How do you plan to get off this island?" Raj wanted to know.

"If I can make contact with the outside world, we can bribe the right people. Even Rufus." Charley tried to smile at the crowd, who did not share his vision.

"You know where he comes from?" said Raj. "He was a mercenary from the Gulf war. Only his people fought on the wrong side. When his money ran out, he escaped with that scum, to work here. Hell man, he can't go back."

"When you have enough money, you can do anything," replied Charley. "All we need is a mobile phone and we can get out."

"How do we get one?'

"Steal it from one of the guards?" said Charley.

"They would miss it. Then everyone would know something was going down," pointed out Raj.

"What if I could just use one for a while, without them knowing?" Charley suggested.

"Might work."

"Rufus has an office where he gets his instructions from his greedy bosses. Get me in there, and I can contact the outside world. What we need is a distraction."

"They would just start shooting through the walls, like last time," said Raj, pointing to the many air holes in the woodwork.

"What about breaking in? I know people escape the huts at night to steal food."

"Some of us know how to get there, but what if he hears you? Or finds you? I tell you, Charley, you got off lightly. Just because you got the production line moving, he lets you get away with a lot more. But don't cross him."

"I heard he ate a man once," said someone helpfully.

"Alright, it will be risky. OK, but we can't stay here. Look at us? All cramped together in a tiny hut. Slavery is illegal in the real world, and people have to find out."

"The world will not care about us, we were born to be slaves," came a voice from the back.

"I was not!" said Raj. "I was born to be a film star. It should be me on that satellite TV program, over there. Not that decadent western pornography."

The rest of the hut dissolved into laughter as Raj ranted on, his ego becoming more and more bruised.

"Wait a minute?" said Charley Suddenly. "What TV programme? I've never heard anything about this?"

"This is an illegal island," continued Raj. "No one knows about it. So they broadcast pirate TV programmes. Beamed up to the western satellite, for their disgusting porno."

"It can't be illegal, otherwise the West would block the signal. Who do you think owns the satellite? They wouldn't get away with it." Charley shook his head.

"It is from that newspaper. The Brit. The one who wages holy war upon us. No one dares lift a finger against them, so their filth is sent out all over the globe. They show films including that woman, Natasha. She is shameless. God meant women to have their shame covered. She is a clear example of why." Raj got nods from the other men, clearly against the great injustice.

"And it's here?"

"They have a studio on the other side of the island. Some of the men get out at night to meet the women. But they do other things there. Disgusting things. There is one poor soul who wears a hood of shame. What they make him do, is beyond the belief of decent people." Raj looked at the floor, shocked by the horrors of the porn channel.

"So this is the place they beam the signal from?" said Charley. "This gives me an idea. Boys, I think I've found a way out. Get me into that studio, and we'll see what we can do."