Chela Mahananda was seated in a cubicle of the mens' comfort room at the back of the stage in the Limketkai Atrium. At any moment now, Eric Ong would make his appearance. The gun was ready. When the time was right it would dispatch the despot so hated by the holy order. He wouldn't mind being felled by a hail of bullets from the EOGC security forces. He would die gloriously for the order and be reborn as an ascended master.
But something was amiss. Ever since he saw the face of Maximilian Ong online, he didn't sleep well that night. He couldn't even meditate. Visions filled his mind. They were memories of family life: his mother, two brothers and a sister. But what disturbed him was the image of his father. The images of his father he saw in his mind had the face of Eric Ong. And it didn't seem natural to visualize another face.
He saw memories of being scolded by his father for offenses he had committed as well as being embraced by him. There were memories of him talking about a lot of things to his father, as well as those of his father talking to him. But he could not erase the face of Eric Ong from his father's image.
Outside, he could hear the sound systems being turned on and workmen setting up the stage. People were gathering in the Atrium. When all was ready, the music went on. There were live performances on the stage as well as lectures on various aspects of business.
As Chela Mahananda waited, those images became even more intense. He saw how he joined the order. He could see his parents, particularly his father, in opposition to his joining the holy order. He saw his father furious when he made the decision to become a sannyasin. He saw his mother coming down with tears. He saw himself leaving Cagayan de Oro. He saw himself being received by Swamiji, being ordered to renounce everything and being given a new name. All those memories were falling into place: from life outside the order to life in the order. The past was connecting to the present.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of military boots. He peered over the door and saw EOGC security personnel taking their positions at the entrance of the comfort room. Then in stepped the figure of Eric Ong.
Mahananda readied the pistol. One shot and that would be it. It wouldn't matter if the security forces killed him afterwards as long as Eric Ong fell.
Eric Ong was at a urinal. His back was turned to Mahananda. A guard stood at the entrance and another stood near the cubicle. There were other guards standing outside.
He peered over and lifted the gun. Suddenly, the smell of burning tobacco hit his nose. It was a familiar smell. This particular brand of cigarette was his father's favorite. It was not an expensive brand. He hesitated.
Eric Ong stepped back, holding a lighted cigarette to his mouth. He turned around.
Mahananda saw the taipan's face. It was not an evil face. It was a plain face. It was also the face of a father. It was so familiar and Mahananda felt heavy in the chest.
"Any moment now," Eric Ong said.
That voice struck a chord in Mahananda. There was no doubt about it now. Tears erupted in his eyes.
"No!" he sobbed. He burst out of the cubicle, past the startled guards and taipan and ran out.
"After him!" cried a guard. The guards ran, except for two who posted themselves at the entrance of the comfort room.
That voice was familiar. thought Eric. Could it be?
Immediately, he ran out. "Stop!" he cried. "Stop! I'm okay!"
"I'm okay," he repeated quietly.
The guards stopped, their quarry disappearing into the crowd.
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