Chapter 14

“I’m very well-acquainted with the seven deadly sins.
I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in.
I’m proud to be a glutton, and I don’t have time for sloth.
I’m greedy, and I’m angry, and I don’t care who I cross.
I’m Mr. Bad Example, intruder in the dirt.
I like to have a good time and I don’t care who gets hurt.
I’m Mr. Bad Example, take a look at me.
I’ll live to be one hundred and go down in infamy.”
-Warren Zevon, “Mr. Bad Example“

Detective Inspector Luc Tomas Allaine left his office and hopped on his bicycle. He pointed it toward Bertholdi Fountain and turned the headlamp on, despite the well-lit streets around Interpol HQ at this hour of the morning, and the reflective orange bicycle helmet that Sam insisted he wear when riding. It was that golden hour before the Sun began to make its appearance, when there were more “people” on the streets than there were “motorists,” and not many at that. A time to clear one’s head with a ride, stare at the fountain, and have a think.

His train of thought on his old friend’s matter had been derailed when the second attack took place, the one at La Contessa’s Seattle hotel. A call back to Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez confirmed that it had been a Triad attack, and that La Contessa and her guards were unharmed. The Seattle Consulate was still fighting with the local police over releasing the security camera footage to them; overtly because the attack had taken place on a property owned by La Familia Royale de San Finzione, which made the hotel’s status as “San Finzione territory” open to debate. If it were the case, by San Finzione law, “a direct crime against La Contessa herself” fell under La Squadra de Ultimados’ jurisdiction until representatives from La Policia could be flown to Seattle to take charge of the scene. The Consul seemed willing to fight to the death over this technicality.

Luc figured out the real reason on his own, after Ramirez had sent him the footage: Because the woman in the video who had no combat training, but also displayed the instincts of someone who was no stranger to violence, and was not Rita Delvecchio, of “È Solo Divertente Se Conosci L’italiano“ fame in her Contessa Helena de San Finzione makeup; was someone whose face the Government of San Finzione did not wish displayed on the news. And with the sensational nature of the attack, handing the video over to the local police would be practically the same thing as handing it to the media. Ramirez pointedly failed to inform him that it was a direct order from La Contessa in such a way that Luc was able to determine that himself. Luc found nothing in the video that could help his end of the investigation, so he gave Ramirez his observations and assured his friend that his copy had been as “accidentally erased” as all others were likely about to be.

And there was still that matter of how the universe works to consider. Another thing which Luc’s old friend deliberately did not tell him was that the myths about his boss were true: That the enchantingly beautiful woman who ruled San Finzione, Contessa Helena de San Finzione, truly was some kind of witch, or faerie, or genetically-engineered CIA sex-assassin; with a strange ability to beguile the mind. Although Luc suspected that if sex-assassins were a real thing, she would have to be a very bad one to have taken over two years to get the job done.

Luc parked his bicycle and walked over to a bench in front of a small bush. He sat and alternated between looking at the fountain and the people out walking at this hour. He thought about who they all might be. All of the drunks had either made it home from the bars, or had been picked up by the police and were sleeping it off in a cell. Everyone out at this hour had a purpose for doing so. He wondered how many were bakers. This seemed the time of morning that bakers started work, and he didn’t imagine many wore their uniforms while walking to and from work. A few, certainly.

“Detective Inspector Allaine?” A woman’s voice whispered from the shadows.

Luc jumped in his seat. His hand went for his service revolver.

“There’s no need for the gun, M’sieur.” She said. “But keep your hand on it, if it makes you feel safer. An old friend has sent me with a message.”

Luc swallowed before answering.

“You got here too quickly to have come from the embassy in Paris, so I would imagine that you came from the local consulate. And you approached me undetected, which speaks of Ultimados training; so, I am thinking ‘Cultural Attaché.’ I have a good idea whom this friend might be, and I have a message for him, as well. Your chosen methods of delivering messages are the only reason I have a box on you, Hernando.”

Luc could hear the woman behind him tapping on her phone from her concealed position.

“You were correct, Luc.” She read off a note on the screen. “There were things that I could not tell you over the telephone, although La Contessa has cleared you to know them. I cannot take time away to come to Lyon, and you need this information sooner than whenever you and Sam visit, which this does not get you out of doing. Allow me to plainly state the facts, so that they are in front of you to work with, old friend.”

Luc took his hand off his pistol.

“I am listening.” He told the woman whose face he still hadn’t seen.

“First, Si, Contessa Helena de San Finzione knows the secret of mind control. It is not believed to be supernatural in nature, but we do not understand how she does it. We know that it cannot be transmitted via video or telephone, and that it doesn’t seem to work if the speaker cannot convey their thoughts correctly; if they do not share a common language, for example.”

“I thank him for putting it into words. This has already been a day like the day that it occurred to me that Captain Stottlemeyer from ‘Monk‘ and Buffalo Bill from ‘Silence of the Lambs‘ were the same man.”

The Ultimado paused.

“I had never thought of this. I now know this feeling. His message continues: There are four people in the world, of whom we are aware, with this ability. The other three who know it are friends of hers: the two who taught it to her as a child, and a more recent member of their group; the woman on the video, whom I’ve told you about. Luckily for all of us, they seem content to use this ability simply to live a comfortable life, help others, and pursue their passions. They are her family, and this power is some kind of family secret. I have met these people; and do not believe that I am being influenced when I say that the secret in safe hands.”

Luc lit a cigarette, sensing that he might be a while, before sharing his thoughts with the unseen Ultimado.

“Which would make them important enough to her to risk an international incident over one of them being caught on video. You may tell our friend that my copy has already been accidentally erased. And that I think he is correct about not being influenced. La Contessa does not seem to be the kind of ruler who would put a puppet in charge of her country’s military. His rise from Capitano to Generalissimo would happen only through well-earned trust and respect. I am guessing that another member of the family is ‘skilled in matters of money?’”

“Oui.” The Ultimado answered. “I have met him. He shared some stock tips that have worked out very well. But back to the message: Whyte arranged an incident where La Contessa was certain to use this ability so that he could see how it worked. He concluded that being unable to hear her command would make Morgan immune to it. This is why everyone but him froze when she commanded him not to move. If she had not said that we could move again before falling unconscious, I may have been stuck there until her friends arrived from America to release me. Oh, si, I am aware that at least one of them is able to override her commands.”

“Then it is some kind of skill, with varying degrees of talent; possibly multiple approaches.” Luc replied.

The Ultimado took in his words before continuing the message. Part of her orders were to report back “even the slightest idle musings” Luc may have.

“La Contessa’s friends are safe, under constant guard by Ultimados. At present, she and Señor Mander are en route to a meeting with a representative of The Elders, to give them the recording of Whyte’s admission to orchestrating the limousine ambush.”

Luc replayed the recording of that conversation in his head.

“With everything else happening in Seattle, I had suspected an Auction was afoot. Add all of those players, and that is the only thing that it can be. If there is an item that Contessa Helena de San Finzione wants to possess up for bid, the only way anyone else could possibly walk out of there with it is if she were already dead.”

Luc thought some more.

“I do not think that Whyte would reveal La Contessa’s friends to the Elders. I am certain that my old friend has them well-guarded. Whyte needs any leverage he can get, and an attempt on Contessa-In-Reggenza Maria would be impossible now, so that leaves only them to dangle over La Contessa’s head. They are too valuable to him to risk losing to a Triad bullet.”

“He would want me to thank you for this. He concludes. The dossier that the Ultimado is giving you now contains everything we have that I have not already shared on Whyte and the item that he wants. I hope this helps you to see the full picture. I know I do not have to advise you about discretion, Luc; however, people have already died over this thing. I would suggest destroying it when you are done. Vaya Con Dios, my friend.”

Luc looked down at the thick, sealed envelope that had been placed on the bench.

“When I turn around, you will have disappeared like Batman, correct?”

“Oui.” The Ultimado responded, her voice already distant.

“Then, allow me to say merci before you depart.”

There was no answer.

Luc picked up the envelope and hurried toward his bicycle.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat in the passenger seat of a 1984 Ford Mustang. She stared, as she had for the past five minutes, at the car in front of her with the bumper sticker that read “Your Honor Student Blows My Kid for Meth,” which she and Mander had stopped laughing at three minutes ago.

“Fuck, I have not missed traffic.” She said, lighting a cigarette. “Is this really how I got around before police sirens and flashing lights became a GOOD thing for me?”

“Prob’ly because of the protests.” Mander replied from the driver’s seat. “Susan said that Seattle traffic’s bad enough when it ain’t even thinking about it. With this shit goin’ on, they’re taking it seriously now.”