Chapter 30

“I bought a first-class ticket
on Malaysian Air,
and landed in Sri Lanka,
none the worse for wear.
I’m thinking of retiring
from all my dirty deals.
I’ll see you in the next life.
Wake me up for meals.”
-Warren Zevon, Mr. Bad Example

“Maleficent is here! Repeat: Maleficent is here!”

The Secret Service agent spoke Contessa Helena de San Finzione’s codename as she walked past him, through the West Wing of the White House, toward the Oval Office.

“Contessa!” One of the President’s aides; Helen didn’t remember what he did, but that he was one of the people who actually did things around here, ran up to her nervously shouting. He seemed to be both be trying to get her attention and alert everyone that she was there at the same time. “Contessa Helena de San Finzione!”

Helen waited until he said her full name and title to finally turn around and address the man.

“Oh, hi there.” She said with a smile, as they continued walking. “I’m not staying, this isn’t an official visit. I just stopped in to use the phone.”

“I, uh...” The man floundered for something to say. “I noticed that you refused Secret Service protection for your visit, again.”

“I’ve told you all before: I have my Ultimados.” Helen said, lighting a cigarette. “They do everything your little Secret Service does except better. Especially the standing out in a crowd, Mr. Ignore-My-Ray-Bans-Indoors-While-I-Whisper-Into-My-Cufflink!” The last, she yelled over her shoulder at another agent that they passed.

She burst into the Oval Office, causing the President and more of his advisers to stop whatever they were talking about. Helen noticed poker cards, chips and girly magazines being stashed.

“Don’t get up.” She commanded everyone. “Everyone shut up and stay where you are. Except you.” She pointed at the President. “Yes, shut your hole, but stand up and walk over to that side of the room. The last thing I want is YOU anywhere within photo op range of me. I’m here to use the phone.”

He walked over to the other door of the room, folded his arms, and started continuously nodding; the way he did to indicate to people that he wasn’t listening to a word they said and was just waiting for his chance to speak again.

Helen walked up to his desk and opened the top drawer. She took out the red telephone, propped her feet up on the desk, and picked up the receiver. She dug something out of her purse while she waited for the person on the other end to pick up.

“Vlad!” She said when the other person picked up, flicking her ashes onto the President’s desk. She began speaking in Russian. “Yeah, Contessa Helena de San Finzione here. I was on my way home and thought I’d stop in and have a word. And I’m doing it this way, because ... well, one, I want to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey; and two, because this is as close as I like to get to you, and I don’t want either of you little pricks getting my number.”

She took a piece of paper with a list of names on it and set it on the desk.

“Here’s what’s gonna fucking happen: I’m leaving a paper with your bitch.” She explained. “It’s a list of forty-one names of people being held in the Uongoian refugee camps. San Finzione will provide them safe passage and transport to America, America’s going to grant them full citizenship with zero hassles or media attention. Your little doggy is gonna sit here and like it and get nothing in return. He doesn’t even get to ‘act big’ for it for the media. YOUR task is to let him know he’s going to do it, because the language of Shit is about the only one I don’t know, so I’ll let you two discuss it. And if you have the tiniest issue with it, you’ve no doubt already heard about my big shopping spree last night.” There was a pause. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

She stood up, put out her cigarette on the desk, dropped the receiver, and headed for the patio door. She looked at the fucker whom he and his businesses, Vincenzo had been wise to ban from San Finzione decades before he decided to destroy any admiration the world had left for the country that he’d made Helen proud to call “No longer my own.” If she stopped to tell this “man” all the things that were wrong with him and that he needed to stop doing right now, Maria will have married Stavro and solved the heir problem in the course of natural time herself by the time Helen got home. The Primary Home, now.

“He wants to talk to you now.” She told the President in English. Halfway out the door, she stopped and turned around.

“The next time any of you are on camera and try to explain how some new tax cut for you and your rich pals is going to be good for America; you’ll shit your pants on the spot. All of you, once you find out about it. Ciao, America!”

Detective Inspector Luc Tomas Allaine of Interpol shut off his desktop computer. He grabbed his coat and hat, departed Interpol HQ, got on his bike, and rode home through the streets of Lyon. He was a few minutes ahead of the end of his shift, but his supervisor never seemed to mind if Luc wanted to knock off a few minutes early; primarily because it decreased the chance of their encountering each other.

As he got off his bike and prepared to mount the three steps to his and Sam’s home, a voice from the hedge row next to him caused him to drop his bike with a start.

“Detective Inspector Allaine?” The voice he now recognized whispered.

“My own personal Cultural Attaché.” He replied, picking up his bike. “Commissioner Gordon only has to worry about encounters like these at night.”

“Batman must require more sleep than an Ultimado.” She replied.

“If you’re checking to see if I accidentally destroyed everything that our mutual friend gave me, it’s all tragically fallen into my deskside shredder. Except for the flash drive, that suffered a nasty encounter with the butt of my service weapon.”

“No. He trusts that you have done this. I am here for the other thing.”

“Oh, oui.” Luc fished a key with a note wrapped around it out of his pocket. He looked at the hedge for a hand to extend to take it. When it didn’t happen, he tossed the key over the hedge. He didn’t hear anything land. “Whyte’s box is here in Lyon; the note has the bank and box number. With what M’sieur Equals and I uncovered to connect the things I had already gathered on him, Americans will confess to enjoying Nickelback before they admit to ever having owned a Whyte product.”

“He thanks you.” She whispered. “And so does La Contessa.”

“I am happy to help them both.” Luc responded, tipping his helmet to the hedge. “I was thinking of simply telling you which bank and box; and seeing if you could get the contents without the key.”

“It could be done. This saves me the effort.”

“I suppose I should get inside and let you disappear, shouldn’t I?”

“That, too, would save me some effort.” She replied.

“Very well, then. Adieu ... what should I call you?”

“Why don’t you come up with something?” She answered.

Luc thought a moment.

“I like ‘The Cultured Woman’ for your name.”

“Merci.” She replied, her voice starting to fade. “I like it, too. Tres X-Files.”

Luc nodded to the hedge and continued his journey up the steps. He walked in the door, whistling the X-Files theme.

At a table at an outdoor café near the San Finzione Marketplace, there sat a Yia-Yia. As there had for as long as anyone could remember. The owner was the sixth generation of his family to run the café, and the fifth to no longer question how she was there every morning before they opened and remained there every night when they locked up and went home. He presumed that she had to get up and use the washroom at some point and that she couldn’t possibly wait there overnight for him to open each day but was never able to find the time to intently watch her and find out.

The Yia-Yia did what she always did; she drank her vino and watched the world go by. People and things seemed to no longer enter and exit her field of vision, but rather, her field of opinion. Mostly today, it had been all the airplanes. Oh, there were always noisy airplanes now. She’d heard that the country had gotten an airport some time ago; that would explain it. It was when there were a lot at once, like a big one with a bunch of little ones flying around it. There’d been a couple of those today, and it seemed like the noise would never stop. It was inconsequential, nobody had been visiting her at the time, but still annoying.

She had gotten a visitor earlier today, though. That Tessa girl had stopped by. She’d only had a few minutes, and there’d been some impatient-looking men with her, but she reasoned that men were always impatient, waiting for their turn to speak to Tessa. She was the kind of girl that men would always want to speak to. Sometimes, rude men would come running up, shouting Tessa’s name and vulgar things, and other, polite young men would escort them away, keeping the rude ones from interrupting their conversation.

Tessa seemed happy to see her. She always seemed happy to see everyone, but the Yia-Yia could tell that she had two different kinds of it, and this was obviously the real one. She was doing a lot of talking, about things that didn’t make sense. Being home, then going somewhere in America that was also home, and now being back home and seeing her at her table and needing to stop and hug her, so that Tessa would know that she was, once more, home. From home, apparently.

The Yia-Yia had suspected for a while that Tessa might be American. If so, that would explain everything. It would explain nothing, but it would also explain everything.

Tessa had also brought her a gift. It was an ash tray. The Yia-Yia didn’t smoke, so it was obviously for Tessa’s use when she came to visit, implying that she planned to do so more often. That sentiment was worth it. The ash tray had a picture of that Eiffel Tower-type thing that the Americans have. She’d seen it on television and tourists’ shirts, and thought it was called a Seattle. Tessa had thought of her, anyway.

She looked at the ash tray, and the strange American word, which she figured must be “Seattle” under the picture of the Seattle. It usually had that word under it. She thought about going to look it up to see if that name was right, when the waiter came over and refilled her glass.

Yeah, why change a good thing now.

Contessa Helena de San Finzione walked through the halls of the newly renovated San Finzione Ministry of Science. Dr. Miguel Rocco, Minister of Science, walked alongside her as they proceeded to the lab.

“So, you have not tested it, Contessa?” Dr. Rocco asked.

“Well,” Helen thought. “I let Jeanne try it on for a little bit. For safety’s sake, we didn’t press any of the buttons or try any jumping; she just walked around in it. Damn good thing I commanded her to take it off when I said time was up before putting it on. No telling where she might be now. I got her something to make up for it. What about the other things?”

“They are being disposed of, and we are analyzing the items that La Contessa gave us leave to before doing it.”

“But not this one?” She asked as they approached a door with a retinal scanner.

“As per your orders, Contessa,” Dr. Rocco answered, putting his face up to the device. It scanned his eye and allowed them access. “No one has even looked at the manual.”

“Good.” Helen answered, as they entered the airlock room.

The laboratory that they were about to enter was normally used for viral and bacteriological research. They put on clean suits before continuing the journey through the other side of the airlock.

“No one else has been here to see it?” She asked through the little speaker on the front of the plastic Nuclear/Biological/Chemical protection helmet that she wore.

“Also, per your orders. This lab is closed. Disposal of the anthrax is taking place elsewhere.”

Helena nodded as they continued to their destination. They finally stood at a wall with a clear ballistic plastic window that looked into a smaller sealed room, where live viruses were normally handled. Something that looked like a control panel that slid open was below the window. It had a key lock.

“Nobody’s going to panic?” Helen asked Dr. Rocco.

“A drill has been scheduled for this time. They are expecting it.”

She peered into the room, staring at the Springheel suit, standing in the middle of it. The manual lay at it’s feet.

Helen stared at it for a good while. She thought about the nightmare she’d been having since she first saw the video, about all the people who had died over it already. About the things she’d told Troy about what they could learn from it. Even the manual might give some insights into the suit’s creation, some more details about how it was able to do the things in the video. And possibly give an intelligent enough person sufficient insight to make another Springheel. She turned to Dr. Rocco and nodded.

The doctor produced a key and put it in the lock. When he turned it, the panel slid open, revealing a large red button with black-and-yellow warning stripes surrounding it that was embedded into the panel. It was behind a small panel of glass, and a tiny metal hammer on a chain was next to it. Dr. Rocco picked up the hammer and was about to break the glass, when he remembered his manners and offered the hammer to La Contessa. She accepted it and smashed the glass.

Lights began flashing and alarms blared. An announcement played, warning of a bio-containment breach in the lab and advising everyone to evacuate to the nearest decontamination area.

Helen pressed the red button, never taking her eyes off the suit. Holes in the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room opened, and jets of flame shot out from them to burn the room, and anything inside it.

For almost a minute, the suit stood in the middle of it all, being burned from all directions by fire hot enough to insure any living thing that was in the room with it would have been incinerated. She saw the plastic parts of the suit begin to bubble and melt, and then finally the metal. Sparks flew from the electronics and whatever powered it inside. They’d never know what, exactly, as the manual had been vaporized instantly. Helen continued to watch as the suit melted and burned into an unrecognizable lump of metal once the plastic had liquefied and boiled away. Whatever it was now, it was no longer the thing that beheaded her in her nightmares. She watched a while longer, until she felt satisfied. She wanted to smoke and watch it burn some more, but that wasn’t possible in the protective gear.

The fire burned for another two minutes before stopping. The room would still be too hot to enter for at least a day.

“When it’s cool enough to handle, bring it to the castle.” Helena told Dr. Rocco.

He nodded his understanding.

“Now, I hope you can understand the need for this next part, Miguel. I’ll have to address yourself and the team you had working on this project, and I’m going to have to ... use my ability ... on all of you. The RIGHT people in the world think that I have Springheel now; the people who need to be afraid that I’ll use it on them if they try to harm San Finzione, Maria, or myself. The ones who will be forced to wonder, every time something goes wrong with their plans, if me and Springheel were the ones behind it. There can be no risk of them learning what I’ve really done with it. The THREAT of Springheel is the best possible way to use it for the good of The People. So, I’m sorry and thoroughly regret that I must do something like this to people who’ve devoted their lives to science and the pursuit of knowledge, Miguel; however, neither you nor they can be allowed to remember this. I’m going to have to have a similar talk with Howard and his people later, too. Apart from a select handful of people, the only ones who are going to remember that it ever even existed are Ramirez and the Ultimados; because they’ll never talk, and I figure my Generalissimo should know whether or not the Ultimate Assassination Weapon that he’s threatening our enemies with really exists or not.”

Dr. Rocco nodded solemnly.

“My duty and theirs is to San Finzione and to you, Contessa. If this is your decision, we are honored to obey.”

Helen nodded. The two of them went to the airlock to get out of the suits.

Mander and Bluey sat in Air Finzione’s VIP Lounge in the airport, waiting to board. Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat opposite them to see them off.

“Well, Your Countessness.” Mander said as they announced boarding. “It’s been a mostly enjoyable time.”

Helen smiled at him.

“It’s always cool to see you, Mander.” She turned to Bluey and signed. “And nice to meet you, too.”

Bluey nodded and signed his thanks back. Mander nudged him and pointed to a speaker on the ceiling to indicate that their flight was now boarding.

“The yacht will be waiting at the harbor, ready to take you home.” Helena told Mander, handing him a set of keys with a float attached. “Ernst can come deliver your helicopter next week, and if it’s all right, stay a couple days and give you a couple basic lessons; you guys can work out more. There’s also a big metal-and-plastic lump of something that’ll be waiting on the deck of the yacht, if one of you big guys wouldn’t mind just shoving it over the side somewhere deep on your way back to Mander Island, that’d be cool.”