The Reverse Takeover - Part 2: The Reverse Takeover, #2

By Marc De Lima

While Joe Bates and Sabino, Vietnam heroes, built a manufacturing empire, Ivon Bates, a young Ph.D., risks losing it. Facing enemies (Helen McCain and Donato Sabellius) bent of wrenching Bates Pharmaceuticals away from him, Ivon finds his true mettle. But as unalterable tragedy engulfs him, in the end, he finds peace and true love through Sabino's gift: the Aleph jewel. Although the theme of the novel focuses on business practices (good and evil), the story is rich with a family saga that tells about human frailties and strengths, kindness and cruelty, and in some cases, violence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marc De Lima
• Release date: Jun 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201426835

Marc De Lima

Marc De Lima, a graduate of Columbia University, is a decorated and disabled Vietnam veteran, retired business executive, college professor, editor, translator, and author of over 105 books. He lives in NYC with his wife Mary Duffy and Mister Darcy—a Shih-Tzu.

Book preview

Chapter 28 — One Short Sleep

In a half daze, with his right arm so numb and stiff that he could no longer hold the shotgun, Sabino drove back to the Plant. What’s the use? Searing stabs of pain ripped through his chest, forming a throbbing web of smelting heat. Delphi’s just up ahead. Since he couldn’t break the pickup, he turned off the ignition to let the van roll and lurch onto the shoulder of the road. That sucking sound’s so annoying. When he tried to open his shirt, it was so blood-soaked and slippery that he couldn’t undo the buttons. Frustrated, he clicked open his Sevillana blade, slicing his blue shirt and T-shirt, and as he examined the wound, he sighed, and his mind shifted to Vietnam. He saw himself holding his buddy Pepino Aquino in his arms, watching him die. Take the blade... forged especially for the Caliph of Seville—take it. It is now yours. My great grandfather brought it to the Philippines from Spain; my father said it was the only beauty he loved as much as my mom—that both were whole, harmonious, and radiant. I want you to have it. As he grabbed the 10-inch blade, he felt Pepino take his last breath and die in his arms. That’s what life is—a sigh, a puff, or breath—God’s spirit.

Look at this mess!

Under the tip of the sternum—triangular, ugly, the size of a nacho—the chest wound gurgled, the fierce systolic suction making him flinch. This sickening sucking sound can surely drive a man insane. Well, plug it man! Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he unfolded it and pressed it against the yawning wound and the grisly gushing noise muted. Oh, heavenly welcome respite!

We’re now on the stretch, he thought. Starting the engine with stiff fingers, he drove on, and as he turned right onto the blacktop, he saw people hurrying, screaming along the road toward the plant, fire-engine sirens wailing nearby. Parking the pickup in the employee lot, he stumbled out of the cabin, his right hand pressing his wallet against his chest. These old legs feel weak and wobbly, but still tough.

To the swamp!

By the clay court, he turned and saw the south wing of the Plant in flames. He exclaimed, Damn, the two south towers are gone! Standing for a moment on rickety legs, he smiled as he looked east. Ah, the two turrets up front are still there! Now I understand why that accursed family of vampires made this building their home. It is the towers, the turrets, the secret passages, and dark aisles, the weird figures on the front walls, and that mysterious archway. A perfect place for them! Who’dda thought that vampires existed on this continent. They came here from Europe since Donato and his wife spoke with a foreign accent. I wonder what became of the child...a man by now. I should have caught and burned him, too. Parked by the loading dock, he saw three fire engines, two bomb squad vans, two cherry pickers, and three police patrol cars, dome lights flashing quietly, helmeted, high-booted shadows scurrying around shouting commands.

Storage and the boiler room are burning for sure. He zigzagged and weaved along the dirt road.

The boiler room and Storage are burning—that’s all. Noticing the human shouts fading and the animal noises growing louder, he thought, They are out tonight, the frogs, marsh ducks, and honkers. Yes, out and splashing and stirring and cheering. But who are they cheering for? He tried to make some sense out of the events. Nothing worse than a scorned woman! he said to himself. Helen McCain had Joe killed. Phil assured me that McCain had sent Rashkin, her chief of security, to kill Joe. I put away Rashkin—so tonight was payback time by the Orbis people. Tripping over some tough wiry rhizomes and taproots, he cursed as he fell to the ground, a ground that felt soft and spongy under the weight of his body as he sunk into the yielding bog.

Sniffing the rancid stench of the thatched mulch, he groped in the dark and found the rope, untied it and dragged the light vessel—the aluminum skiff—into the water, its iciness chilling his feverish shivering body. Clambering in, he lay down and watched the immense curvature of the night. The stars are out tonight, he thought, but the North Star ain’t out.

The stars reminded him of his own childhood: the Virú valley in Peru where he was born. He pictured the snow-capped Andes and the green meadows of his mother’s hacienda, then his small town, the church, the market, the public square, and the pharmacy across from Fukumoto’s grocery store. Beautiful stars. The rising vaporous mist blurred his vision, but his mind was clear. Rowing, gliding, watching the burning blue glow of the sulfur crystals, sniffing the dioxide fumes, he advanced impervious to the crackling of decayed briars, brambles, sticks, and bump of ice chunks. Slow, now—veer to the right; that cove yonder leads to the spot. Confused, he realized he had reached a dead end, and in the luminosity of the whitecaps—piercing the blackness of the night—he discerned a sign: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate. Interpreting the word speranza as hope—esperanza—, dauntless, he advanced filled with the ecstasy of courage he had often experienced in his life.

Right here, this is the spot.

The whirlpool!

Yes, yes, I see it, he murmured, right here where the Hackensack River surfaces to feed the wetlands. The mist was so thick that he could feel it ooze out from between his fingers. Dropping the paddle on the side, he saw the paddle didn’t sink, it floated on a thick thatch of frozen lotus leaves, glistening with a bright turquoise light. Flat on his back, he clasped his hands over his chest. Ivan means John, that’s the Word. One short sleep past—he mumbled—we wake eternally: that’s written. Be still! He closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he felt woozy, as if he had awakened from a frustrated nap. The mist was now on fire, and he was amid a burning lake, the skiff swaying gently towards the great Deep. He perceived furious and feverish typing, the steady clacking of a keyboard. This is so strange! Then he realized an angel, or a god, or maybe an evil spirit, was spelling him out of this world. Oh, my God! He saw at the end of a celestial page his full name being typewritten.

Out of a roar of tumultuous and chaotic voices, he heard little Ivon’s voice. Say the prayer, Sabino. But say it word by word, don’t skip a single word, say it as father said it, please. And don’t add or take away like you often do. Sometimes you stretch the truth and I don’t like that. And Joe Bates next: Dear Lord, author of us all. And Rufus Redcoles—yes, ‘Wagging Ass’ Rufus, one of the ten Adams—had cried, Is this a sign, or what!

Images and vertiginous voices became more chaotic: Aw, Sabino, stop pulling my leg! Bats and vampires are small, and they don’t grow to the size of flags. Is it true what people say that you burned a vampire alive? Well, that vampire was huge, bigger than me, even. I chased him out of the basement, but he put up some fight. I wrestled him to the ground and told him I wouldn’t let him go till he told me his name. C’mon—Sabino, you lie and tell big lies and you are worse than Don Quijote when he went down into that cave...yet, little Ivon asked, did he tell you, his name? Yes. Donato Sabellius the Third, count of Philadelphia, Maladelphia, and Tickadelphia. Tick tick tick. Tickle, tickle, tickle...stop it Sabino! Tickle tickle tickle. Quit it!

Sabino was now delirious. Major Bates’s fatigued, frail voice echoed in his mind mixed with the rustle of burned, napalmed rubber trees: You go Sabino...I can’t make it...this is as far as I can go. Sabino could still see Joe’s foot, he could still see it swollen, the size of a football. You’re a nobleman, Major Bates. You took that bullet because of me, and I won’t leave you; I owe you my life and I will help you to the last gasp. We both go or I’ll stay with you and we’ll both die. Hang on. I will make a litter and drag you to the river...it’s just a short ways then we’ll be safe. Yes, Joe Bates was a nobleman, and I served him. Every man must serve and be loyal to his superior, for we all fit in somewhere in the pyramid of life.

Then his mind turned to Ivon: Ivon, you poor, lonely, unloved child—But Ivon means God is good and good you are. The only regret in my life is that I never told you who your mother is; not because of indifference, but because of protection; to shield you, at least from hurt, though not from grief. For no evil should pollute a child’s mind. Pongo, pongo, attchuuu, ...gotcha, gotcha! God have mercy on you.

Only when he no longer heard the furious clacking did he smile as he saw the amanuensis—angel, god, or evil spirit—type a period after his mother’s maiden name, his full name now slanting and blazing at the end of the celestial page:

Sabino Yamamoto Valencia.

The skiff swayed gently into the abyss, and though his self dissolved, his heart swelled up with the ecstasy of courage.

Chapter 29 — Damage, Panic, and Salvation

To avail the company of third-party proof and to observe the damage first hand, Tom Stone asked Ivon to invite the Fire Chief to inspect the damage with them. So, early on Thursday, the Fire Chief, Ivon, and Tom Stone surveyed the area, trampling over the charred remains and water-soaked, soot-soiled, buckled floors. Ivon saw that the Storage facility had suffered the most damage, the blasts having ruined about one third of the shelving, torn a hole in the building’s west brick wall, and knocked down the two south towers. They kicked some of the black bricks and cinder blocks out of the way.

This looks like a wasteland of charred metal, soggy cardboard, shattered glass, twisted wires, and crumbling ceilings, thought Ivon. The sharp odor of the smoldering wreckage mixed with the stench of the explosive PETN hung heavy, making them gasp despite the surgical masks that both Ivon and Tom were wearing. The basement area, which housed the boiler and the master electrical switch boxes, was still billowing dark smoke, while low blue flames devoured the rest of the wiring and machinery, making the exposed metal pipes clang and whir as they contracted and contorted into misshapen gigantic pretzels.

Ivon could hear the Fire Chief and Tom arguing and droning on about how the fire not spreading. No danger anymore: everything is under control. Just be patient until the authorities come in and survey the area. We have lots of reports, tons of paperwork, plus federal agents will have to do some testing. And Tom, How long is this going to take? We need to clean up this mess and get back into full production. And the Chief, No need to get hot under the collar, Tom. The Federal Energy Department will send a team for routine inspection to make sure there’s no radiation leaks.

Frustrated, Tom was losing patience. What the hell for? Who’n the hell is using atomic power here?

Just the same, Tom, the NEST—Nuclear Emergency Search Team—will be here. The Army, too. The Technical Escort Unit will sweep against chemical and biological contamination. Furlough your people, Tom, until you get the ‘all clear’. Don’t forget your insurance people, either.

Squeezing himself between Tom and the Chief to defuse the incipient argument, Ivon said, I appreciate your advice chief...and all your help. Please make sure your paperwork shows the damage just in case we have a problem with the insurance claims. They shook hands, and then Tom and Ivon strolled to the office. At least the labs are still intact, said Ivon. I hate to think what would have happened if they had set off a bomb in the labs. The damage isn’t as extensive as it appears. I mean, it’s bad enough, but not enough to put us out of business.

Thank God, said Tom, his dark face now pale, his freckles more visible than usual. Meeting with the line managers and supervisors in the front office, Tom Stone requested—from each—a list of all the property and equipment damaged. Work fast, but don’t leave anything out, he urged. We need this right away to present it to the claims people as soon as they get here.

Ivon noticed that Pia—LaMía Pia—was sobbing, and his eyes filled with compassion, but quickly he turned skeptical since he saw Pia as a tough and insensitive woman. Was she exaggerating? Pia, please find Joey, Ivon said, and ask him to come here. I need him in this meeting—right now. Pia nodded, pulled her undergarments up, and snapping the elastic, twirled, and trotted away.

So, what do the workers do? asked Miss Meneses.

Ivon turned to her. You, Miss Meneses, have the biggest job. Get some people to help you take a physical inventory, and then you must estimate and document the loss of the inventories. We need a good dollar amount we can use for the insurance company; make sure your figures reconcile with Pia’s cost figures, and then check with Cost Accounting. Coordinate with Phil Kerdes, Michael Lopez, Ketty, Coral and Margaret Orr in the corporate offices. Not only do we need accurate numbers, but we also need an uncontestable paper trail—proof of loss.

Yes, Ivon. You will have a precise and accurate list of all the lots that we lost, unit prices included. It’s all engraved here, replied the levelheaded and solemn Miss Meneses. She tapped her right temple, paused, and as though Ivon needed a definite assurance, she said peremptorily, Trust me, Ivon, I will have everything accounted for or my name is not Ana Meneses Funes!

Just then, Pia walked in with Joey De Lemos.

Come on in, Joey, said Ivon. I want you to listen in.

Dr. Loomis said softly, I guess there’s no need for the workers to hang around today and tomorrow.

Yes, said Dr. Ana G. Norris. Ivon, you must decide. Let the workers know what’s going on. Some rumors are flying around that you’re going to close the plant and open up in a developing country like Mexico or South Korea. As she said this, Annie gave Janos a contemptuous, accusing look that as much as said, I mean you, you drunkard—you hyena face! You are the big mouth who is spreading rumors and bad-mouthing our dear noble commander-in-chief, Ivon! Crystal had told her that Janos was shooting his mouth off spreading rumors that Ivon was going to take the fire insurance money, close the Plant, and run away.

To quell all rumors and slander Ivon said with finality, I won’t waste time on rumors.

This is the saddest day of my life, said Felix Kulpa, his voice choking as tears coursed down his wrinkled cheeks. I’ve worked here at Bates for over twenty years. This is my home, and I’d rather die than go to work somewhere else. Unable to contain his tears, Felix broke out moaning and lamenting, ...my home, my life...

Looking at them, at their grave and grim countenances, Ivon felt his heart break, yet he spoke with calmed dignity. Our company is financially sound, Felix. Bates Pharmaceuticals has enough resources to stand for some time, even without the settlement from the insurance company. No one will lose his job. Annie tousled Felix’s hair and comforted him, too. Everyone knew Felix loved Ivon dearly, having helped Sabino care for Ivon from the very first time Joe Bates started bringing him to the Plant. Countless times, for many reasons, Sabino would leave little Ivon with him.

What about Sabino? asked Felix, with a mournful voice and again he started sobbing.

They all gasped. The question chilled the air, and they looked down as if they already knew the answer: that the old man was dead, that he had sacrificed his life for the good