Chapter 2

“Things got hot in El Salvador, CIA got caught, couldn’t do no more.
He’s got diplomatic immunity. He’s got a lethal weapon that nobody sees.
Looks like another threat to world peace for the envoy.
Send the envoy. Send the envoy.”

-Warren Zevon, “The Envoy”

“Is your roll,” Propappou said to Helena, walking over to turn off the kettle on the hot plate. When his back was turned, Helena palmed two of the white stones from the backgammon board and slipped them in her home tray, then picked up the dice cup.

They were in Troy’s parents’ garage, which had been converted into a small rec room. A foosball table and a pool table also graced the room, and an old Doctor Who pinball game stood against the wall by the workbench, where Propappou fixed the cocoa before bringing it back to the table. Helena had rolled a 2 and a 3, but lightly nudged the 2 to get double-threes.

“Here yours,” Propappou said, handing the cup across the game board to her. With his other hand, he slid a couple of black stones up the sleeve of his red velvet smoking jacket. As he picked up his own cup, he casually slid the stones into his own home area. Helena smiled and ignored the obvious cheat; partially because she’d been cheating too, but mostly because it wouldn’t be a proper Greek game of backgammon without it.

“Efharisto, Propappou,” she said before sipping and finishing her turn.

“Perikala, Petalouda,” he replied. “You Greek always been good, you do fine there. Meet good Greek boy like Troy. Hey, he got cousins there, you want I call them, meet up with you and Julie?”

“No, thanks. I had the perfect Greek boyfriend and I couldn’t make it work.”

The old man tried for a moment to get up, but he’d just sat down and his old joints weren’t ready for effort again so soon, so he opened his arms and said “Hey, elah tho.” Helena got up and walked around the table and into a big hug with him, nuzzling his long bushy beard.

“I’m sorry you and Troilus no stay together. You two was cute, and I would be proud to have you as my diesngoni OR my kori.”

“I wanted that so much too. I know his heart isn’t with me, though. And those fucking adoption people!”

“Eh, them malakas don’t know what make REAL family like you and me.” Helena bristled at the word “family.” Propappou felt it holding her. “Hey, hey, you got every reason to think family bad word, but this is not it. Of not to cry.”

“I’m not. I don’t anymore. Sometimes, I think my dad beat all the tears out of me.”

“Well, this you special night, you graduated the high school and it’s your Name Day too. You and Julie got you trip after summer; you should be out partying with boys over at their place, not sitting in garage playing backgammon with old man.”

She squeezed him tighter. “I’m right where I want to be, Proppapou. It’s St. Helena’s Day, I get to do what I want, remember?”

“Neh, this is for that,” he said patting her head as she let go and went back to her side of the table. “Well hey, I got you something.” Propappou reached into the pockets of his smoking jacket, searching for it.

“I don’t need anything, Propappou. You and Troy are the only ones who really care about Name Days.”

“Hey, you kids give me little things all the time. I no ask how you get money all the time, I figure you or Julie or Troilus knows a guy. Or maybe not; Troy, he good with money; get good maths grades. Like I tell him: Presidents, Congress, lawyers; all just be looking to steal. If you really want to steer the world, steer the money. Eh? Make them come to YOU for PERMISSION to steal! Here, Happy Name Day.”

He found the item he’d been searching for and tossed it into the middle of the backgammon set. The small, black leather drawstring pouch landed with a rattling thump. Helena picked it up and opened it, pulling out the loop of coral beads on a string. Helena’s eyes widened as a big smile spread across her face. She picked up the worry beads and started fiddling with them. Propappou pulled a string of his own from off of his left wrist.

“Ok, Helena, you see me use these for years. Now Propappou show you how to do it.”

Contessa Helena de San Finzione woke with a start as the plane hit a pocket of turbulence. The worry beads that she’d been toying with as she nodded off clattered to the floor of the empty First Class section; empty except for her and one of the stewardesses.

Apart from the crew and herself, the sixteen soldiers of San Finzione’s elite Squadra de Ultimados troops that she’d met at the airport before takeoff and were now waiting back in Business Class were the only passengers. She’d offered to let them sit up in First Class with her, but their commander, a man named Capitano Ramirez, insisted that he and his men would give La Contessa her privacy.

At this moment, though, solitude was a bad thing for her. This was the part of her life that she hated: Solitude meant nothing to do but sit and worry about Maria and Stavro and try to will the plane to fly faster.

Stavro had been a bit less of a worry, as she’d been able to get some word while in flight. They’d found him at the scene unconscious and badly injured. One of the soldiers and the pilot had died in the crash, Stavro and the other had tried to fight off their attackers. The soldier had been killed, but Stavro had no weapon and fought with his hands, so they only beat him and left him at the scene. Still, the doctors said from his injuries that he’d fought off several of them before they overpowered him. He was still unconscious, but expected to make it. After Helena had called the Generalissimo, she informed Ramirez and his men of the loss of their comrades before returning to her seat and sitting in silent contemplation until she’d nodded off.

She thought about telling the stewardess to bring the drinks cart and leave it and polishing off every little bottle on it, but that would just lead to worrying about Maria AND being too wasted to do anything. She pulled a cigarette out of the pack that rested on arm of the seat and lit it. At the beginning of the flight, one of the stewards had told her that there was no smoking on the plane. She didn’t feel like doing her thing to the man, so she simply pulled out her diplomatic passport with her free hand and flipped him off with the one holding the lighter as she lit the cigarette, and that had been the end of all discussion on the subject.

She swung the little video monitor that each seat had in this part of the plane and brought up the menu. All the movies were ones she’d either seen or she didn’t want to sit through the “edited for airplanes” version. There was an option to view the plane’s flightpath and information and she brought it up. Three hours left til they landed in Uongo.

Helena looked over at the stewardess, a tall, slender redhead with an Irish lilt whose nametag had read Colleen. (“Of course that’s her name,” she had thought when she saw the tag.) They hadn’t really talked at all since Helena had asked for a hot cocoa after takeoff, and the rest of her co-workers were in back taking care of the Ultimados, so she’d been reading most of the flight. Helena couldn’t see the title, but the cover was the “Fabio or a guy who looks like him about to rip the nineteenth-century maiden’s bodice open” universal symbol for trashy romance. From the look on the woman’s face, she’d gotten to one of the good parts. She looked fun, and fun was what Helena could use about now. When Colleen looked up from her book for a moment, she saw Helena make eye contact. She set her book down and walked over to her.