by Jack July
“Yes, hello,” he replied. He was already pissed off. Speak English in my country God dammit, rattled in his head but never made it out of his mouth.
He walked to the office where Antonio stood to greet him, “Mr. Braddock,” he said shaking his hand.
“Call me Meyer.”
“Yes, well, you can call me Senator. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I understand you are facing a stiff challenge in the mid-terms.”
Antonio shrugged his shoulders and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time. I have a strong base that works hard. I’ll be fine.” He tilted his head a bit and asked, “Why this sudden concern for my career?”
“Senator, I’m a father. A father who wants to leave my children a country with clean air and water. I’m also having problems filling labor jobs. The restricted border is hurting my businesses. I think we have enough in common that your success is my success.”
“Really?” he said with a hint of doubt.
Meyer pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and pushed it toward the senator, who stared at it like it was a poisonous snake. Antonio’s hands went to a steeple shape that gently bumped his lips. His eyes moved back and forth between Meyer and the envelope. Meyer said in a soft voice, “It’s okay, it won’t bite.”
Antonio picked up the envelope, opened it and removed the cashier’s check. A small whistle passed his lips followed by a curt laugh. “Mr. Braddock, what exactly is it that you wish to buy for a half million dollars?”
“Nothing. You know me well enough. I don’t put strings on politicians. I choose the path of personal relationships and loyalty. Let me help you and you can be part of that, part of my circle as I am part of yours.”
Antonio smiled and said, “I think I’m going call it a day. Meyer, come to my home and we will have lunch and talk more about our mutual interests.”
“Senator Neri, I would enjoy that very much.”
The senator stood and walked to the other side of the desk, put his hand on Meyers’s shoulder and said, “You can call me Tony.”
The fresh salad with shrimp as big as a baby’s arm was delicious. Tony and Meyer sat at an outdoor table next to a large ornate pool. Tony’s wife and oldest daughter lay oiled on lounge chairs soaking up the sun, beautiful women by any measure. A staff of what was most likely illegal aliens tended to the sprawling Santa Fe style home, at least ten thousand square feet. A young woman brought out two more Mojitos and cleared the table. Meyer looked around and said, “Must be quite a trick, living like this on a hundred eighty grand a year.”
Tony shrugged and said, “Well, I do some legal work for the cap and trade lobby. They are very generous.”
Meyer thought I’m sure they are, you piece of shit.
Tony sipped his Mojito, sat back and said, “You know, when we pass cap and trade, we will make a half dozen or so instant billionaires and a few dozen instant millionaires. We are always looking for people like you to support candidates that can get this thing over the finish line. You would be in on the ground floor. This will be as big as the stock market, trillions changing hands with percentages held back for those who were prescient enough to see the inevitable.”
Jesus Christ, what a crooked shit, Meyer though. He said, “Nice thought, but it will never get past President North’s desk.”
Tony shook his head and said, “She won’t always be there.”
“Hmm,” Meyer grunted, “that’s true.” Then he changed the subject. “Aren’t you on the Defense Strategic Forces Committee?”
“Yes, I am the minority leader.”
“I was reading a Tom Clancy book called “Submarine.” It was really amazing they patrol that long, especially the Ballistic Missile Subs.”
“Yes, it is even more amazing what one hundred and fifty billion dollars will buy. I have been on a couple of tours, going inside compartments most people will never see. It is indeed something to behold.”
“How many submarines do we have now?”
“Eighty-something. It depends. They just launched a new fast attack, the Texas, but then they are discussing taking an older one out of commission. It changes.”
“So they patrol every ocean?”
Tony smiled and said, “Amongst other places.”
“Really?”
“They are used for more than deterrence and ship to ship combat.”
“So, how many are in the, say, Atlantic at any one time?”
Something clicked in Tony’s head. Suddenly this conversation seemed out of place. He was an opportunist and not the most moral person in the Senate. He had no problem working the system to fill his pockets; that’s what they all did. But just as socialistic and screwy as Meyer thought the senator’s politics were, there was something he didn’t know. Antonio Neri grew up the son of migrant workers who picked vegetables in the San Joaquin valley. He joined the Army and spent six years in Army intelligence, then used his GI bill to help him through law school. In his own eclectic way, he was a staunch patriot who loved his country. Meyer’s line of questioning was entering the area of classified information. Tony decided to let him dig and see how far he went.
Tony took another drink and said, “There is no set number, it changes depending on the global situation. The oceans are like a big chess board with a dozen countries playing at once. It can get sticky.”
“Hmm, so, how many ballistic missile subs are patrolling at any one time?”
“That’s classified.”
Meyer feigned embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I meant nothing by it.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright. It’s interesting. It’s one of the reasons I like that committee assignment.”
Meyer kept digging deeper, trying to get the Countess’s questions answered. Tony sidestepped them with vagaries and unclassified facts and figures. An hour later they parted on good terms. Tony had a town car waiting to take Meyer to the airport. Meyer sat in the back despairing over his failure and trying to figure out what he could send that would be acceptable. She had to know it wouldn’t be easy.
As Meyer rode away, Tony retrieved the mail from the end of his driveway, walked back inside and took a seat at the large granite bar in the kitchen. He absentmindedly sorted through the mail when he stopped, turned his head and looked at the phone. He leaned back in his chair and came up with three possibilities. The first was that Meyer was who he appeared to be, and the curiosity was innocent. The second was the CIA or FBI was making a run at him, trying to test his honor and loyalty. President North was all about protecting classified information. She dusted off the death sentence for treason and, he thought, Wouldn’t she just love to fry my liberal ass. Then there was the third, Meyer Braddock was spying. Tony’s wife breezed through the kitchen and did a Jane Jetson with his wallet, removing the cash to attend an art show. He kissed her goodbye and, before the front door shut, he picked up the phone and dialed. A pleasant sounding woman’s voice said, “Federal Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your call?”
Chapter 36
Constance, Claire and Luther drove to Shannon for lunch and some shopping. While they ate, Constance tried to learn exactly what had happened to this girl and why she was homeless. Claire didn’t speak much; it was clear the trauma of her young life had taken a major toll. She sat drawn in, head down and shoulders hunched.
Constance kept the conversation generic in hopes of allowing her to open. She started with, “Claire? Where did you come from?”
Still looking down, Claire said, “Wexford.”
“Hmm, that’s a fishing village isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So, where is your father?”
“Drowned.”
“Sorry to hear that. Was he a fisherman?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother must have been devastated. Where is she now?”
Clai
re shrugged her shoulders. Just then the waitress arrived with plates of food. Claire looked up at Constance as if for permission to begin. “Eat, it’s fine, go ahead, eat.”
She nodded and took a bite of chicken. Constance saw that she ate as if someone were about to hit her. “Claire, my dear, you are safe. You have nothing to fear from anyone. It may be hard but please, try to relax.”
Unfortunately it wasn’t that easy. Claire nodded and relaxed a little bit. Constance asked, “So, when your mother left, you went to stay with an uncle?”
She nodded.
“And this uncle was not very nice?”
Claire shook her head. Constance took a deep breath and thought, Okay, that’s enough for now. “Mr. Z says I am to buy you new clothes. Do you have any idea what you might like?”
Claire looked around the restaurant and motioned toward three women in their late teens or early twenties who were eating together. Constance looked at them for a moment and said, “Yes, they look very nice. We’ll start there.”
Constance bought Claire several outfits plus shoes, undergarments, hair care and personal products. She actually got a little smile out of Claire with, of all things, the hairbrush. “You like that hair brush.”
She shrugged and said, “My father used to brush my hair when I was little.”
Constance smiled and thought, Yep, it’s always those little things that mean the most. They walked out of the store. Luther was down the street leaning against the car. A man suddenly stopped Claire and said, “Hey, ye busy, I could use a good shagging, 20 Euros?”
Claire stepped behind Constance trembling. Constance replied, “Lest you want to see yourself in jail, you had best move along.”
The man seemed quickly angered and said, “Shut yer yap, I wasn’t speaking to you, get…ACKKK!”
A large hand from his left grabbed him by his throat, nearly lifting him off of his feet. Luther took two steps and violently slammed him into the brick wall more than once. Then he leaned forward and whispered something into the stranger’s ear. The stranger tried to nod yes when Luther slammed him to the ground. The man slowly rose to his feet and staggered away as quickly as possible. Luther picked up a couple of shopping bags and motioned the ladies to the car. Constance leaned over and whispered to Claire, “See, you have nothing to worry about. You have friends.”
Claire shook her head quickly and said, “No, you don’t understand. Everyone knows me; they know what I did, who I am.”
Constance had no answer for that.
They had one more stop to make. The clinic. Claire would have much preferred a woman doctor for the type of exam she was receiving, but there wasn’t really a choice. Constance sat in the waiting room while they took blood and did numerous tests and exams. When they were finished, Doctor Wirths gave her prescriptions for an antibiotic cream, penicillin and a pain reliever. She was in a lot of pain because of the infection, but it had been that way for so long she never complained. They scheduled her for another appointment in two weeks, and finally they were on their way back to the castle.
Upon arriving, Constance helped her carry her things to her room. After they had put everything away, Claire showered in her private bath, applied her medicine and put on a dress. The doctor recommended she not wear pants until she healed. She was a little bored so she went to her favorite place, the castle library. She occasionally liked to read, but there were so many other things: medieval clothes, weapons, charts, and a globe made before they really knew what the world looked like. The room was like a small museum. She walked in, holding her brush in one hand. She planned to sit in her favorite place, the throne, and brush her hair. Then off in the corner she saw a little wisp of smoke. She walked back to the corner and sitting in the big stuffed chair, out of sight, was Bogus, holding a pipe. He jumped when he saw her and said, “Oh, hello.” He tried to stash the pipe, but it was too late. He laughed to himself and asked, “You are Claire?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod.
“Well, we have a small problem. If the Lady finds out I was smoking, I would be in big trouble. So, do you think we could keep this to ourselves?”
He saw her physically recoil. In Claire’s world, a secret meant something very different than it did Bogus’s. It began to run through his mind both what she was and how she got there. He said, “Now, if the Lady asks you directly, of course you must tell the truth. There will be no lies or damaging secrets in our home. However, I would be thankful if you didn’t volunteer this particular information.”
She managed a little smile and a nod and said, “Okay.”
“Good, thank you.” He saw the brush in her hand and that her hair was still damp. He motioned for her to sit on the ottoman in front of the chair. She sat down, still a little skittish, and he said, “Give me the brush; turn around.” He motioned by twirling his index finger.
She handed it to him. When he reached for her hair she pulled away. Hmm, I bet she has a problem with men, thought Bogus. He stopped and sat back. “You know, when I was a boy my older sister Cyla used to make me brush her hair with one hundred strokes. If I stopped she would beat me up. She was bigger than me.”
That comment made Claire crack a smile followed by a little chuckle. “The Lady loves it when I brush her hair. She’s like a big cat. Her shoulders roll and her head tilts back...I thought I heard her purr once.” He gave Claire a little wink and a smile. “Lean back. If you don’t like it, I will stop.”
Bogus was masterful with women and girls, keying into their emotions. He could match his words, tone and body language to whatever they needed. He could make any woman do whatever he wanted, except for one. So he married her.
Claire gently turned and slowly sat up. Bogus started with the ends of her long auburn hair, and gently worked his way up until his strokes started at her forehead and finished at her back. Unknown to either of them, Constance stood in the doorway watching, nearly in tears. “Done,” he said with a smile, handing her back the brush.
Claire turned back towards him, looked down then looked back up like she wanted to say something. Bogus tilted his head a bit and inquired, “Yes dear?”
“Sir, ah, when um, when do I have to leave?”
Bogus opened his mouth and nearly choked on what hit him: emotion. He was momentarily staggered as he thought, My God, I’m becoming her. He was already in love with this wounded little bird. He shook his head and said, “You don’t.”
Constance called from the back of the Library, “Claire, dinner in twenty minutes.”
“Yes, Miss Constance,” she replied respectfully.
“What about me?” asked Bogus.
“You eat in the master dining room.”
“I’m tired of eating alone,” he said with an exaggerated pout. “Claire, may I eat with you?”
Claire nodded her head yes, then Bogus said, “Good. Constance, please have Sarah set a place for me in the kitchen dining room.”
“Yes sir.” Then Constance stopped, sniffed the air, looked at Bogus and narrowed her eyes. “Have you been smoking?”
Bogus put on an innocent face and said, “What?”
Constance looked at Claire and asked, “Was he smoking?”
Claire looked at Bogus then back to Constance and said, “I did not see him smoke,” which was technically the truth.
Clever girl, thought Bogus.
Constance looks back at Bogus and said, “If the Lady catches you, she will have your head.”
“I don’t need the Lady’s permission to do anything.”
Constance laughed out loud and said, “Yeah, right.”
Constance turned to leave. Bogus made eye contact with Claire and gave her a little wink. Claire smiled and followed Constance out of the library.
Chapter 37
Squealing tires and a turbo whine could be heard from three blocks away. Nothing like making an entran
ce, Ben, she thought. Fenian was on one knee between two arborvitaes at the front of the old couple’s home. She couldn’t, in good conscience, stay in the house and risk their lives. She offered to pay for the door, but the old lady said, “Don’t worry, dear, it’ll give Howard something to do.”
The red Porsche slowly drove down the street till it came to a stop in front of the house. She could see Ben combing his hair and preening in front of the review mirror. A part of her felt bad for using him. The other part of her thought, This could be the adventure of a lifetime, if we survive. She looked down the street and saw two armed men with AKs on the corner of the intersection to the left, the same way the car was pointing. They’d thrown a net over the neighborhood and were waiting.
Ben jumped out of the car and was nearly skipping up the walk. When he reached the bottom of the steps, Fenian spoke in a hushed but urgent voice, “BEN! Stop, don’t move.”
He froze, and she said, “Keep the lights of the car off, back into the driveway. When I get in, turn right. Leave the way you came in, got it?” He nodded, went back to the car and did as asked. Unfortunately the porch lights were on, lighting up the front of the house. One of the armed men kept looking at the Porsche. When she saw him look away, she made her move. He looked back just in time to see her silhouette, yelled to his partner and raised his weapon.
“GO! GO GO GO!!” she shouted.
Ben froze. He looked at her and asked, “Are those grenades?”
The first volley from the AKs burst out the small rear side window and peppered his quarter panel, breaking his fixation on the grenades. “GO! GO!” she yelled again. He dumped the clutch and shot out of the driveway and down the street.
He stopped at the first intersection and in a panicked voice asked, “Which way?”