The general's next recollection, was him trying to shake the dull sleepy feeling, followed by a sharp headache, while rocking inside either a vehicle or plane, that had sharply banked a corner - like a dream from which there was apparently no escape. The only thing real enough was Iris's slowmotion-like voice before he gravitated into a deep slumber again.
"Five milligrams... wait, wait, wait... stands back! Let me do it, move..., let me administer it, he's your general remember?" Was the last recollection before the sleep surrounded him.
Startled at the bright morning sunlight pouring in from a yacht window. It was clearly not his office, and by no means any other familiar environment, washing over his confused mind. With effort, he finally managed to pushed himself up on his elbows, in an attempt to look out the round yacht window into the strangest surroundings he was dumped in.
"No wonder those poor dolphins wouldn't come closer for an inspection again, your snoring is from another world." Iris was smiling from ear to ear as she ascended the creaky wooden staircase with a steamy cup of coffee, and a small plate stacked with an assortment of biscuits.
"So, I come visit you at your office and get you to safety and you reward me by sleeping in, while I alone steer this monster in pirate waters? Anything to say for yourself? Along the lines of sorry, don't know why I did it maybe?" Iris's complicated sarcasm was equalled only by her caring nature and her welcoming smile cupped her familiar mix of emerald and sapphire lenses to her immortality. She sat down next to him on the bed, and pulled his hand closer to take the coffee mug from her.
"Where I'm I, what happened?" Reluctantly he took the mug from her.
"In typical for directness... Very Russian. And a clever evasion of the real issue here, the snoring. Oh good timing. Let me show you what you missed." She squeezed his forearm, winked and stood up to switch the small television on, then flicked through the channels.
"Nothing, nothing, nothing, more ads, ah! Here we go." Iris found what she was looking for apparently as the news presenters took turns in almost hysterically excited fashion, talking faster than normal and over each other.
"According to the Ministry of Defence of the Russian Federation at 19 Znamenka Str, the video footage does in fact, 'not' indicate that it was indeed official troops, and the battle-dress was 'not' standard issue."
The reporters switched from Russian to English on Russian TV and debated the strangeness of an attack, on what was believed to be a secure military facility... up to then, that was.
"The smoke as you can see, hadn't settled yet at the time that the security cameras started recording, and we don't know why there had been a delay before security cameras were prompted, nor who prompted the recording. Here are more angles of the unexpected reigning chaos of shots being fired, doors kicked in, and staff ordered at gunpoint to lie in neat lines on the floor while being searched. It is indeed beyond belief what we are witnessing. It has been confirmed that none survived, although a high ranking official remains unaccounted for. It has not been ruled out that the official may have been kidnapped during this horrid 15 minute long execution of all members." Reporters continued, capitalising on the astounding terror which gripped an otherwise - normally proud Russian army.
"Who do they belong to? The men. Modern Heckler & Koch MP -5's and M56 Chinese respirators from the 1960's on those gas masks, I'd recognise those in my sleep. What the hell?!" The general greedily downed the hot coffee in three rapid gulps and continued his typical lesson, whether Iris wanted it or not.
"You see, right after the Sino-Soviet split in the early 1960s the Chinese government thought it wise to design and manufacture its own military equipment without the help of our old Soviet Union. 1964 and the Chinese moved to design a new gas mask for the People's Liberation Army. That there was to become the M65 model. At the time, they were particularly awkward one sided cheek filters located on the left side of the mask. Bulky egg-shaped filters moulded into the mask, rendering it irreplaceable. And yes, usable for no more than two occasions before replacement was a must. It had two tissot tubes running underneath both lenses with a small hole on the side facing the nose and mouth to let air flow directly through to the mouth and nose, while eliminating lense-fog all at once. This is like equipping a team from a museum's gallery? You knew about this? How?" The old general was perched on the edge of the bed with his arms bent, hands on his hips.
"Cliché, I know, but we'll get to that. What do you know about Haztech? You still head the advisory think-tank on the old arsenal distribution to African governments by both Russian and China through Israeli and South African intermediaries, right?" Iris handed the general an Inmarsat satellite phone and called her own cell phone to test the connection first. The general smiled his skewish smile at the ring tone of Ava Maria.
"Thank you for keeping the classics alive Catrina. My ringtone on your phone? Is it still the Kalinka? I do hope so... Who would it be that I'm going to call for you? Oh, just for my own peace of mind, was it 'Dextrimolol' my coffee at my office?" He shook his head from side to side still fought off the dazed feeling and tried hard to keep his balance on the choppy ocean surface as he attempted an upright and awkward wide-legged stance. Realising he was too tall for the cabin ceiling, he raised his bushy eyebrows and pointed at the staircase leading upstairs.
"If my instruction at your office was to lie down and play dead, you would have ignored it like any good soldier.
So I had to improvise. And no, my own cocktail from the lab, I wouldn't administer anything I haven't tried on myself, well, on people I care for that is. And, yes, of course, some fresh air and sunlight would be helpful, and the weather is perfect. By the way, we're nowhere near home. We're in West African waters." She smiled and showed him to head upstairs first, in front of her.
"Just like your mother, just like her... What?! We're where?!" The old general almost took leave of his normally calm self, paused, then hurried and as best he could manage, skipped every second step as he made his way upstairs, as if the solitary scenery outside with no land in sight, would really prove their location.
"You have the key Irish?"
Chapter 6 - Heartville's Diner
Day of the board meeting.
"Another message... Heavens Zach. Another one. This 'is' actually our family getaway time. Ok, so Zach paid for it and it's work related too. I thought the man had nerves of steel. This must be a big deal to him"
"What?"
"Sleep angel, sorry I woke you. It's just another message"
"From?"
"Guess"
"Please I need my sleep..."
"Zach"
"Really? And what does he want?"
"Confirmation"
"How? We're not there yet, are we?"
"A bit further still"
Café, Eatery or Bistro... On the whole, their brightly-lit, colourfully flashing 'welcome-signs' serve as modern samples of sometimes age-old delectable processes kept secret, to keep hungry choosy patrons returning for more, and as often as possible. No two are alike in character, and each one boasts the domination of generous portions of their delightful secretly guarded home-made gravies, choice selection of appetisers, and unforgettable tempting desserts. Whatever it is that magnetises us towards them, they just prepare it better... And of course, then there are the heart-warming hosts... the 'other' ingredient to a mouthwatering experience, that keeps us going back... While the blinding yellow-and-red pulsing neon signs were fast pulling peckish families away from the main road through Heartville, with their 'Two for the price of one' - 'Saturday Dinner Specials!' and 'Upsize Now - And Win! - A handful of starving locals and one or two peckish out-of-towners, who were 'just passing through', who were not the 'cheap franchised food in a box' - 'get a toy with your burger' - or 'just fried chips' - supporters. These connoisseurs, seldom bothered even a stare in the direction of these so-called modern dinnertime marvels. Actually, come to think of it, it was normally, much like tonight...
The day Before
...
"Well they could do better. The place is worth nothing as it is". André slammed the phone down before the realtors' company could comment on his too low offer that had been declined. The old couple didn't want to sell their pride and glory which they built up over a lifetime of fine tuned attentiveness to what had turned once-off patrons into repeat customers and frankly, very good and dearly close friends. It would have paid André well to have listened to the realtors, who may have had another property where André could have cannibalised the antique building style, morphing it into something with a modern face and more secure. The realtors, John and his lovely wife, Victoria, were new in a neighbouring town and managed to pick up a run-down building to operate from.
Earlier...
"What the hell was that!?" Victoria was rudely awakened from her slumber as result of the soft rain that peppered the slow-driving vehicle's roof and the hypnotic repetitive sweeping sound of the windscreen wipers.
"Sorry for that. It's was stones that were flung up from the shoulder of the road. Sorry angel".
"What?"
"Bloody biker! I had the hazard lights on for two kilometers to show him to slow down, then eventually pulled into the emergency lane to allow him to pass. Reckless devil!"
"Road Sign: Heartville's Diner 200 meters ahead".
"Mom... Dad... you're not serious...!? The ravenous and most annoyed 13-year old Bertrand twins exclaimed from the dim comfort of back seat - blanketed in a blueish haze - as their mobile phones advertised their shocked expressions. Their luxurious rental SUV had just paused their holiday trip, by clicking it's indicator as it slowed down. It unexpectedly pulled off from the saturated main road and onto the loose crackling gravel, which was indiscriminately spaded out to cover some deeper potholes, which decorated the small unmarked dirt parking area. Ahead of them through the pouring rain, the vehicle lights touched down on what appeared a dire looking establishment. Even in the rain it was obvious that it could do with a bit more than mere TLC. A single faint globe hung precariously from a knotted extension cord - leading into a window left ajar - and had been trying unsuccessfully, in desperate flickers - aided by a loose connection, attempting to light-up an unevenly screwed-down chalked sign, on a worn wooden post near the front door- "Heartville's Diner".
"Well we're basically already out-of-town guys... and if you two had torn yourselves from your cell phones earlier, you would have noticed the insane queues at all the drive-troughs and road-houses, plus, it's a holiday... Let's try something different. Something that's not hurriedly wrapped in paper and squeezed into a box, shall we?" John eyed them lazying on the wide back-seat, then turned forward and spied out past the anxiously sweeping windscreen wipers. The depressing diner seemed quiet for an early evening, and he wondered if noticing the signboard 200 meters before on the road-side, wasn't maybe a mistake. He knew his boys too well, and that they were probably already staring back at their phones - oblivious to his defending his choice.
"Babe, it's 7pm, and we're the only ones in the parking area... well us, and that chromed motorcycle parked over by the door..." Victoria deliberately motioned with her eyes, attempting to change his mind...
"Come guys, off the phones... lets go..." John said under his breath and was out in the rain, jogging round the back to open the passenger door for his wife.
"Well, well... I'm impressed... you don't see that any more..." Somewhere from the poorly lit overhang by the front door of what now seemed more like a run-down residence than a restaurant, an older woman's voice greeted the holiday makers. Half-out from under rusty roof, hiding under a tattered umbrella, she showed them to the front door when John looked up. Another vehicle, which probably decided to rather turn around in the parking area behind them - before it was too late - and head back to town, beamed its headlights momentarily over the older woman at the door. John guessed from her wrinkled brow and matching smile that she was probably already half-way through her sixties, after what must have been a dirt-road-all-the-way kind of life. He noticed she was a tall gaunt and high cheek-boned old dear with exceptionally straight long grey hair - that reached her waist - and dressed in a far younger-era's tight-fitting denim.
"Hi there, good evening... I'm Hilda" Her strong German accent was instantly followed by her outstretched right hand, after wiping it on her surprisingly neat apron. John surmised from the crossing straight ironing lines, that she had literally just pulled it from a drawer and tied it to her skinny waist, for her unexpected guests.
"Wonder if 'we' are the answered prayers for business for 'this' place for this evening. I doubt that there is much cooking inside taking up her time. Suppose it would be awful if the place puts us off, and we'd decide to leave before we're served..." Victoria whispered to John.
"How 'do' they manage to stay in business, competing with the owners of all the modern takeaway outlets?" But Victoria's muffled whisper went unanswered and she dropped her hand from her lips to greet.
"So, do you have Wi-Fi...? Before even being properly introduced, a young voice announced from behind John and Victoria...
It was the talkative one of the twins, in his normal demanding tone, while Hilda made a point of greeting the parents first, before responding to the boy's plaguing electronic issue. She waited with a welcoming smile and her firm handshake for the boys.
"Oh child, we have lots of things..." Hilda winked at him, and with her hand showed them inside.
"But Wi-Fi... do you have that...!?" The boy insisted as he let his family enter, while he paused at the door where she stood.
"The fastest in town my boy, and the password..." Hilda bent down and held her one hand by his ear and whispered. Then looked around as if she was about to share a state secret.
"It is groovy gravy... two words, all lower case..."
"You're having me on right...?" Staring at her, he hoped that she had actually been serious.
"You go see for yourself... see you at your table..." A courteously smile pointed him to his family who already decided on a large candle-lit table close to the wooden bar area.
While the twins were figuring out whether old Hilda was having them on, John and Victoria looked around inspecting the interior, agreeing in hushed voices that it was probably too late, and quite rude to leave anyway. By the time Hilda arrived with four red, worn-leather covered menus, the twins' faces were wrapped in the biggest smiles all day.
"Thank you... and sorry for doubting you..." The earlier demanding voice offered an apology.
"Not at all... Not a problem at all, and thank you for your good manners... just like Dad..." And she handed each a menu.
"Opening the door for your wife, in the rain outside... old school... well done..." Hilda cleared up the confused look that Victoria's wore.
"Glad you came early, it should pick up in a while... shall I get you all something to drink while you decide..?" John and Victoria looked at each other wondering whether she was being serious or just wishful. His look over at the bar, confirmed his suspicion that a little something to drink helped pass time in this neck of the woods, and he faced his menu, away from a half-full tall glass of dark yellow fluid. He quietly wondered how may times Hilda have replenished it.
"To drink..?" Victoria squeezed his hand slightly.
"I'm sorry; yes two filter coffees, one black one white and... boys...?" John waited for the twins, who apparently found the out-of-place technology in the oddest of settings quite to their satisfaction.
"Hilda, the boys were thinking of donating their phones... interested..."
"Sorry Dad, hot chocolate please Hilda..." both replied to a nodding and smiling Hilda, who left the table after imparting a wink in the boys' direction.
"Did you see the menu Dad...?"
"Dad...?" But John, was looking to find an answer to a riddle. He looked around the bar, then scanned back over his shoulder as he absorbed the solitude in the thirty-something tabled diner and faced back towards the 'Gents' sign over the door past a lonely poo
l table.
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