IC408

von Marcus Krug

 

“Your attention, please! Your attention, please! Your attention, please! Indian Airlines announces the departure of the flight IC408 to Hong Kong. The passengers are requested to proceed to the aircraft.” a male voice was blaring out of the creaking speakers at the gate, while outside a plane was noisily taking off from a concrete runway, nearby.

“Good evening! Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Indian Airlines and captain Dasgupta, I welcome you on board of flight IC408. We are about to take off from Calcutta. Will you kindly fasten your seatbelts, keep your seats upright and refrain from smoking while the no-smoking sign is switched on. We hope you enjoy your flight. Thank you!” a more pleasant female voice announced over the PA system inside the aircraft.

My aviophobia already threw a tantrum when I only thought about buying the ticket. Imagine me inside a real plane! But the glass of red wine in front of me and the nice aperitif of a good handful of barbs would carry me into dreamland in a few moments, I hoped.

Han, my friend from university, had invited me over to Hong Kong to celebrate Chinese New Year with him and his family. He had been doing so for many years and I was preparing for this trip for quite some time. I even went to see a counsellor.

“You look scared, mister. Are you alright?!” the young Chinese woman, sitting next to me, started a conversation. I took a medium sip of wine to relax. Because she was cute and had a winning smile.

“I’m just afraid of flying, that’s all.” I said curtly. I was staring straight-on at the back of the seat in front of me. I only regarded her out of the corner of my left eye. Then I took another but larger gulp of wine from the glass and let it run down my throat.

“The name’s Wong, Tracy Wong! You are Mr Banerjee? Abhijeet Banerjee, right?!” the woman said.

“Have we met, Ms …?”

“Wong! No, we have not. Not in person, I am afraid. But I know you quite well, Abhijeet. I may call you by your first name, may I?!”

“No, you may not!”

“Please, have another sip of wine for me, Abhijeet. You must relax! For me, please!”

“What do you want from me, Ms Wong?”

“Tracy, please! I just want you to relax and enjoy the flight, Abhijeet!”

She then ordered another glass of wine for me. When the flight attendant came over with the delivery, she took the glass right out of the surprised woman’s hand and brought it straight to my lips. I was so startled by the absurd scene that I swallowed the whole content of the glass in one go.

But I soon felt comfortable in the strong arms of mighty Morpheus.

 

I wake up. Not on the plane, but in a tiny room. How did I get here? What am I doing here? I am wearing a hospital gown. Why am I wearing a bloody hospital gown? What is going on?

The floor and the walls are flagged in cheap white tiles with awful Chinese ink paintings on them. By the door, a tiny shower is set in the corner. There is also a narrow makeshift bed in the room on which I have slept for quite some time, I suppose. Over the top of the bed and opposite the door there is a small window, which doesn’t let much light into the room, though.

My hangover is horrible. I feel like I had been drinking for days. Also, my whole body is aching, like I had been beaten up, recently. But I don’t see any bruises. My back hurts, though.

There is a package of painkillers on, and a big bottle of water under what looks like a nightstand next to the bed. I have some pills and half of the bottle. Balm for my parched lips.

I try the door. It is locked. What the hell is going on here? I try harder to push the door open. Now, that was too much! There is a mighty sting in my lower back. The pain is spreading like a wildfire through my weak and maltreated body.

I try to locate the epicentre of pain and my fingers feel out a bandage covering my lower back. Under the bandage, I feel out something angular. When I push it just a tiny bit, the pain almost makes me pass out. What the hell is going on here?

I try the window. The window leads to something that seems to be a large ventilation shaft. Although, there are many other small windows out there and pipes of various sizes, as well. It looks like a dump; all sorts of garbage are sticking to the glass of the windows or hanging down from the pipes.

So, I try the door again. When I am just about to push harder than before, I hear two different voices outside.

“Ms Wong! I believe he is awake now.” an unknown woman’s voice says.

“Oh fine, let’s just pay him a visit, then.” Ms Wong’s voice says happily, “Ms Chen, ahem, Abigail, can you go and fetch the device from Mr Hung, please? Thank you!”

Ms Wong unlocks the door. To my surprise the door swings into the tiny room, so that I have to step back a bit. The door leaf has the letters IC408 written on it. She sees me staring at it.

“Good evening, Abhijeet! How are you today?” Ms Wong says with a cute smile on her pretty face. “IC stands for ‘interchange’ and 408 is a serial number, your personal number. In case you were wondering, Abhijeet.”

“What is going on here? Why was the door locked? How come I’m wearing a hospital gown? This place looks hardly like a hospital. And why am I in pain? What did you do to me?”

“First of all, you are absolutely right! This here is not a hospital, at all. This is an apartment on the twenty-fourth floor of the famous Chungking Mansions on Nathan Rd, Tsim Sha Tsui, just a stone’s throw away from Hong Kong Island.” Ms Wong says, “You have undergone what here in these premises is called an ‘interchange’. We took something from you and we gave you something back. In return, so to speak. By the way, thank you for your much-appreciated donation!”

“Donation? What donation? I don’t remember donating anything!”

“We usually do not concern ourselves with asking our donors for permission. That is a rather rigid part of our business policy. But I would like to emphasise that we are, nevertheless, extremely grateful for every donor’s donation. In particular yours, because Mr Liu, the tremendously influential mayor of the exceedingly famous city of Hangzhou, sends his regards. He is very pleased with his new kidney. You two were the perfect match.”

“My kidney?!” I touch the bandage again. And feel the angular object under my skin. And again, a sharp spike of pain travels through my weak body.

“Oh Abigail, thank you for the device. Be careful with this! He is just an armlength away from us!” hisses Ms Wong towards the clumsy and scared Chinese girl.

“Yes, of course, Ms Wong! I am sorry!” the girl named Abigail says.

“Here, Abhijeet, this is for you! Your life depends on this little thing here! So, stay focused!” Ms Wong hands me a device that looks like a handle of a revolver, only without drum and barrel. “Put your finger here right on the trigger, before I let go of it, okay?!”

“What is this? What is going on?”

“Abhijeet, you may already have noticed the little box, we’ve put in place of your kidney?!”

I stare at her, not able to say anything. My mouth just went bone dry instantly.

“This is a box full of awfully effective explosives.” and then she adds, “And here in your hand you hold the detonator.”

“But what? … And why?” I come forth.

“You have to understand that it was extremely difficult for us to find a suitable donor for Mr Liu. His body has rejected all previous donor kidneys within the first hours after the transplantation. But then we came across you, and your file. Strong male, regular exercises, healthy diet. And, of course, your spotless medical record. It was a perfect match!”

“You stole my kidney? You stole my kidney!”

“Abhijeet, you have to be very focused now. Focus on the trigger. If you let go of it, there won’t be much left of you, or your remaining kidney.”

“Why? Why? Why?”

“You have a real chance here! If you go and find somebody to defuse the bomb and get it out of your body, you will live. If not, you will die. Perhaps it helps you to understand that the bomb was activated the moment your heart rate went higher than forty-eight beats per minute. This is also the way to deactivated it. Temporarily of course.”

“Do you want me to go back to sleep, again? After all this shit?!”

“Abhijeet, you are upset and I understand your situation, but this is your very own decision. To live or to die. This is entirely up to you. Your future lies within your very own hands.”

“You understand my situation? You fucking cunt! Why did you do this to me? Wasn’t the kidney enough?! Why also the bomb?”

“You know what they say, Abhijeet? When you’re good at something, don’t do it for free. We sell our many services to our many clients. That is how we conduct our overly successful business.”

 

In the end, Abhijeet Banerjee makes a decision. He holds on to the trigger, runs out of the apartment and over to the lift on the twenty-fourth floor. No one is holding him back, neither Tracy Wong nor Abigail Chen. He flees and manages to leave the enormous maze of the building’s intestines.

Outside it is dark and a massive crowd of people is celebrating on Nathan Rd. Chinese New Year, the Monkey is passing the baton on to the Rooster. It is close to midnight and people are everywhere. So, it happens that Abhijeet Banerjee bumps into quite a few of them. He then eventually loses grip of the handle and the trigger when the clock strikes exactly midnight – the amazing fireworks start off and everybody is blown away.

The huge detonation can also be felt quite intensively on the twenty-fourth floor of the Chungking Mansions. Abigail Chen, who didn’t see this coming, spills her hot Jasmine tea all over her fine silk dress.

“Hmm, I thought, he would make it. This one seemed rather strong and particularly determined. I feel quite sorry for him!” Abigail Chen says.

“Oh, my dear, please don’t! Would you rather have wanted to be in his place, then?”

“No, of course not! Not for all the tea in China!”

“So, you see, that’s what is called the impermanence of life. In my experience, none of them ever makes it. It’s the adrenaline. They get high on it and think anything is possible. But the opposite is true. If you’re on your own, nothing ever is! … Anyway, he didn’t get as far as I expected, but it was still quite effective, I hope.” says Tracy Wong and puts her tea cup carefully back down onto the saucer.

 

ICFZE News live from Hong Kong:

“As Chinese New Year celebrations are in full swing, an explosive charge detonated exactly at midnight on Nathan Rd., one of Hong Kong’s densely populated business areas. In the blast, at least eighty-four people have been killed. Hundreds were seriously injured.

The HKPD believes this to have been an act of terrorism. A spokesman of the HK anti-terror taskforce said that the suicide bomber has been identified as a certain Abhijeet B. According to intelligence reports, the young Bengali man, a radicalised Muslim from Chittagong, has recently been targeted by the anti-terrorism investigators, because of his close ties to the major terrorist organisations, such as the Islamic State or Al-Qaeda.

However, these groups have yet to comment on this rather unverified information.”