Frank received a call from President Teceres. "I suggest you find a place to hide, Senhor Weatherly. I fear we will no longer be able to protect you. Brazil long ago accepted the jurisdiction of the International Court of Justice, with only a few exceptions. If the charges are accepted, they will be able to come here and take you."
Frank's shoulders slumped. "Senhor President, your country has been more than simply hospitable to me. You have defended me against the U.S., and sometimes it seemed like the entire world. You have my gratitude.
"I must ask only one other favor. I have a booster and a payload at Alcântara, containing supplies for the Hope's crew. If I can arrange it with Senhor Almendes, and sign a launch contract under a genuine corporate name not connected with me, will you permit the launch? It cannot be launched until the comet completes its course around the Sun."
There was a pause. "Mr. Weatherly, since we have met you have been completely honest with me, even about the reactor. If you can do it in such as way that it will not be connected with you, I will permit the launch. I will call Gilberto immediately.
"Meanwhile, I suggest you seek a refuge. The Americans will have the CIA combing the world for you. I think I can hold them off for a week. I am afraid that is all I can do to return your generosity. I am sorry."
Gilberto Almendes was expecting him. He greeted Frank warmly, and apologized that it appeared Brazil could no longer shelter him.
"I understand, Senhor Almendes," Frank replied. "I have expressed to the President my appreciation for all you have done for me. Did the President brief you on my current need?"
Almendes nodded. "Yes, but I am not certain we can do it. Oh," he waved carelessly," I'm sure you can come up with a 'clean' company to book the launch. But I assume it will be a large payload?"
Frank nodded. "I would love to have had an even larger one. But I could not obtain an Ariane 5 without launching from French Guiana, and as soon as they found out who I was, they hung up on me. But I have another Zenit 3SL booster, and it will lift about four and a half tons to TLI. The booster is in the assembly building, the payload is installed on it. But I had to wait until the Hope comes back around the sun."
Almendes looked thoughtful. "Can you afford another booster? If we receive a booster after you have disappeared, and have a valid contract from a valid customer, I'm sure we could do it. It is only if someone connects the fact that the booster was here before you disappeared that makes me suspect that spies would report it."
Frank sighed. "I can afford it, barely. But I'll no longer be a billionaire. Those things cost sixty million apiece, you know.
"All right, I'll have the contract here tomorrow, and Ms. Andrews will sign as a director of the company. It will be postdated about a month, of course We can't have my signature show up anywhere. I'll call in the order for the booster immediately and arrange the payment."
"I am sorry, Senhor Weatherly," Almendes said. "I wish there were another way, but I do not see one. The American CIA can be very efficient. I hope your escape plan is successful."
They shook hands, and Frank left, wondering if he would see Almendes again. Or Brazil
The next day Susan took the contract to Almendes, and signed the papers.
That evening they took a commercial flight from Brasilia to Rio de Janeiro, checking into the Hilton.
Very early the next morning, a loud, obnoxious, very drunk American in a lurid flowered shirt and Bermuda shorts, carrying a small suitcase and accompanied by an obvious prostitute carrying an overnight bag, stumbled through the Hilton lobby. The Night Manager, scandalized, approached them. The woman started to speak Portuguese, but the American silenced her. "Speak Amurrican, Dammit. Y'all ain't rippin' me off by talkin' Spanish!"
The Night Manager tried to placate the American. "I am sorry," the woman said in English. "Thees is not hees hotel. I tell heem, but he do not believe me." She gave the Night Manager the name of a rather seedy, lower-class hotel.
"Please, Senhor," he said in excellent English, "This is the Hilton. It is not the Excelsior. May I get you a taxicab to your hotel?"
The American looked around blearily. "Not the Excelsior? Hilton? 'Way too expensive fer me." His bleary eyes settled on the Night Manager. "Say, boy, cud you call us a cab? I think we're in the wrong place."
The Night Manager hailed a taxi and put them into it, breathing a huge sigh of relief.
Susan laughed. "I think you're a frustrated actor," she said. "Was all that really necessary?"
Frank shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But when the CIA comes around asking, no one will remember when Mr. Weatherly and Miss Andrews left. There won't be a checkout record, but their passports will be gone."
"How did you arrange that?"
"Money talks." Frank replied. "I bribed a desk clerk. And since what he did was against the law, he won't be in a hurry to admit to it." He shed the garish flowered shirt, and donned a much more conservative one from his suitcase. He leaned forward and changed their destination to a dock on the waterfront, slipping the driver a bill.
They reached their destination, and Susan looked around fearfully. It was a dark, rather lonely fishing pier, with a line of fishing boats already preparing to set out for the day. They walked down the line until Frank saw the boat he sought. He and Susan went aboard, and Frank spoke to the captain. Susan didn't hear everything that was said, but she did hear "Montevideo," presumably referring to the city in Uruguay. Frank passed the captain a packet of bills.
He came back and escorted her to the boat's tiny cabin, ignored by the boat's two crewmembers.
"Relax, Honey," Frank said. "We've got a long ride ahead. More than a day. Maybe two. I hope you don't get seasick."
Susan stared at him. "Two days? On this tub? And did I hear you say 'Montevideo'?"
Frank grinned. "Yes, yes, and yes. Remember, we're trying to lose the CIA, and they're sharp. If they catch us anywhere outside of Brazil, they'll have us in cells so fast we'll leave a hole in the air."
She looked around at the dingy, greasy cabin. "I was going to change clothes, but it's so dirty I think I'll just stay with the hooker image. I'm going to throw these away anyway."
He looked distressed. "Don't do that! I like them."
She rolled her eyes. "Men!" She said, "I'm halfway falling out of this top, and you like it."
He looked at her quizzically. "Why do you think hookers dress the way they do? It's because the customers like it, and the customers are men. Any man that tells you that low tops and high skirts on attractive women don't turn him on is either lying, or he's gay."
She looked at him coldly. "I suppose this other junk appeals to men, too."
He shrugged. "Sure. Big bangle earrings, stockings with seams or fishnets, no pantyhose, please. High high heels and big, loose hair. All part of dressing to please a man."
She looked disgusted. "Come on, Frank, I mean, I know that stuff appeals to a certain low kind of man, but you're supposed to be civilized!"
"Civilized isn't the same as dead. One of my pet peeves for years has been that women don't, or won't, dress for their man; instead they dress for their girlfriends or some gay designer."
She scowled. "Now you're being silly."
He shook his head. "Think about it. Women don't buy clothes from Frederick's of Hollywood; men do, in hopes they can talk their woman into wearing it, even in private. Be honest; how many articles of clothing have you bought because a girlfriend thought it was 'cute'?"
Her scowl had faded. Now, she looked interested. "Dozens. Hundreds."
"And how many because a salesclerk told you it was 'you'?"
She smiled. "Okay, hundreds again."
"And how many have you bought because your current man told you it looked sexy?"
"Uh, maybe some bras and things." Now she was looking thoughtful.
"Okay," Frank persisted, "has any man bought you sexy clothes and asked you to wear them for him?"
"Yes." The flat finality of her answer told Fran
k that no other information would be forthcoming.
"Well, don't tell me," he said, "let me guess. If you were like most women, you looked shocked and said, 'Oh, I could never wear something like that!' If he pleaded long enough, perhaps you said, 'Well, all right, but just this once,' all the time planning how to discourage him from ever doing that again.
"And yet," he continued, "ask nearly any woman and she'll tell you she dresses to look nice for her man, right?"
"Well, of course!" Now she was looking doubtful. "But we can't go around looking like whores! What would you have said if I showed up in the office in this outfit?"
He grinned. "We might have gotten together a lot sooner. No," he interrupted her attempt to speak, "You're bright. You know that clothing must be appropriate. And there are many women for whom sexy clothing would never be appropriate. A 70-year-old grandmother shouldn't wear a miniskirt or a tank top, for example." Susan shuddered. "And there are men who would never want their women to dress that way. But your man should be the judge. If he thinks you are attractive in sexy clothing, shouldn't that be what you wear? Especially since you all claim that you dress for your man? And in private, well, anything should go.
"What that man was saying was that he was sure you were beautiful enough to wear something like that, and that he was proud of you and that he dearly wanted to know that you were wearing that fancy finery for him, because you knew it was important to him. It's about time women figured out that a little of the right kind of clothing is much sexier than nakedness.
"Men are very simple creatures, Susie. Much simpler than women. Give us regular meals, a pat on the head from our lady once in a while, and enthusiastic sex occasionally, and we're happy."
There was a long pause. "Frank," she said finally, "When we get where we're going, will you get me a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog? I think I've got some studying to do."
Frank grinned. "They have a website. I'll even bookmark it for you." He shrugged. "Victoria's Secret is that her stuff is nothing special. But they have women convinced that all they need is a wonder bra to drive men wild. Actually, Frederick's is pretty tame compared to some of the other kinky clothing sellers. I haven't been to their web site in years, but a lot of their stuff used to be pretty classy, while still being sexy."
They talked for a while, and slept for a while. Then they talked some more. Susan complained about not having her tablet.
Frank sighed. "We've been through that. That's why we smashed our tablets and took out the hard drives, and then threw the tablets in a dumpster in Rio. If you had your tablet, and tried to connect to the Internet, you could be located, down to a few meters. You're going to get new e-mail addresses, and forget you ever knew the old ones. Do NOT go to them 'just for a moment' or 'just to check something real quick'. You're going to have to learn about anonymous surfing, because the Internet is how I'm going to be able to talk to Man's Hope."
Susan looked surprised. "You think you will? Be able to talk to them, I mean."
He smiled. "Sure. I'm signed up with four different proxy sites. I sign onto one, and suddenly people backtracking my signal get an address in Iowa. Then I use that one to sign onto another one, and that address is in California. Then I call a certain number in Brazil over VoIP, and they connect me with the transmitter.
"The crew has been retransmitting our side of the conversations, so everyone could listen in; but now, if I ask them to cut off the rebroadcast, I can talk to them all I like, at least until they go behind the sun."
Susan frowned. "Frank, they haven't even reached the comet, yet. I wouldn't get your hopes too high."
Frank grinned and took her in his arms. "I'm not too worried, honey. If there were anything wrong with the ship, just about any catastrophe that could have happened would have happened by now. Of course, there is the possibility of some sort of catastrophic failure, but I'm not too worried." He paused, and his grin faded. "At least, I'm not worried about mechanical problems. This thing with Yoshi scares me to death. That little fanatic could have set space travel back fifty years. Yoshi made it through all our psychological testing, and scored high enough to be selected for the crew. Did we miss another quirk in somebody else? Is Ron going to suddenly go berserk and start trying to kill everybody?"
She laughed. "Ron is the most stable person up there. He's not interested in killing people; he just wants to take things apart and put them back together."
He kissed her. "Thanks, honey. You're a treasure. You always know just what to say."
Chapter 9
Four days later, two weary Kanos stepped off a bus in Olongapo City, Philippines. The slightly overweight, gray-haired man in the flowered shirt with the large sunglasses approached a Philippine National Policeman. He chattered to the police officer in Tagalog for a moment, and indicated a restaurant nearby. The police officer replied in the same language, and nodded. The American said, "Salamat Po," and rejoined the woman. They crossed the busy, sunny street, dodging the traffic, squeezing between stopped vehicles, and entered the restaurant, where the American ordered in English.
Some twenty minutes later, a PNP Sergeant entered the restaurant, looking around with a puzzled expression. He noticed the two westerners, but paid them no attention until the man waved enthusiastically. He was almost to the table before he recognized the man.
"Tito Frank!" He said with a broad grin as he took an empty seat. "You have aged, and put on weight!"
Frank grinned. "Hair dye and padding, Toro. Thank you for coming." He introduced Susan to his son-in-law Rogelio, more commonly known as Toro.
Toro looked delighted. "You are Tito Frank's new wife?"
It was Frank who answered. "Not yet, Toro, but soon. As soon as this is over."
Toro grinned. "Good. Tito Frank needs another woman, to keep him out of trouble."
Susan glanced at Frank and smiled. "I'm not sure one woman is enough to do that, Toro, but I'll do my best."
Toro sobered and looked around worriedly. "The kanos are looking all over for you, Tito Frank."
Frank nodded. "I know, Toro. I need your help. I no longer have my Philippine cell phone, with all the numbers plugged into it. Could you do some calling around for me?"
Toro shrugged. "Of course, Tito Frank."
Frank smiled. "Good. Of course, you'll have to avoid mentioning my name, but here's what I need. First, call Inday or Marco and have him drive down here and pick us up in his owner jeep, not the SUV. Then call Maria. Tell her to meet us at the small house, and tell her we'll be coming to spend the night."
There was a silence before Toro replied, "But that is all? What else can I do to help?"
Frank thought. "Well, for one thing, you can keep an eye out for kanos looking for me and keep me posted. You can also pick me up a new cell phone, nothing fancy, and some 'load'; minutes. You can bring it out when you and Alcely come out to the small house for dinner tonight. Seven o'clock?"
Toro flashed a blinding smile. "Seven o'clock," he agreed. "But if Cely hear you call her Alcely like a stranger, you'll be in big trouble!" He waved and strode from the restaurant.
Frank and Susan dawdled over their meal, chatting, until Frank suddenly said, "There he is." She looked out the window and saw a shiny silver older-model jeep with an equally shiny hard top pull up outside. As she approached it, she noticed it was unpainted metal. Frank helped her into the cramped back seat. "Sorry, honey," he said, "but I have to sit in front. It's done that way here. Women's lib hasn't hit here yet."
Frank tried to take Susan's mind off the terrifying traffic by talking about Marco's jeep. "It's all stainless steel," he said. "During and after World War II, the U.S. had two big bases and thousands of men stationed here. And that meant thousands of jeeps. Filipinos bought them as surplus, and started using them for everything. Some became small buses, and evolved into those jeepneys that irritate you so much. But for some reason, Filipinos love the look of those old-style jeeps. This one is a replica, of course, built of stainless steel
on a custom frame. The engine is a Toyota diesel, but it could just as easily be any of a dozen others. They're sold as kits, or as complete vehicles, short ones, long ones, soft tops, hard tops, it's all up to the owner. So, they're called 'owner jeeps'."
Susan tried to listen to Frank, but kept getting distracted by the traffic. After awhile, though, it began to thin out. After passing through a town Frank called "Subic city," they took a hard left and they were on what she would describe as a two-lane country road. But that didn't mean they travelled at highway speed; not with all the chickens, dogs, children, motorcycles and tricycles that kept wandering onto the road without warning.
Finally, though, they pulled into a carport attached to a small two-story concrete block house. It was surrounded by a low wall, but displayed none of the fancy grillwork she had seen on many of the houses here. "This is my 'bachelor pad'," Frank explained. "I showed you the 'big house' back down the road. Well, that is where everybody thinks I was living, here. But since Yoli died, I actually was pretty much staying here."
A slim, middle-aged woman with long, shiny black hair streaked with silver came out to greet them, calling him "Meester Frank." Frank introduced her as "Maria," and said she was the servant, a combination housekeeper and cook. Susan was unsurprised. Frank had explained to her that it was common in the Philippines for those who could afford it to have household helpers, male and female. By western standards, the cost was low, and it freed up the householders to occupy themselves with other tasks.
Susan was not yet sure how she felt about all this, but she had a feeling Frank would keep her plenty busy without worrying about doing laundry or cooking meals.
Frank immediately borrowed Maria's cell phone, and retrieved a number.
"Jaymo? It's your Kano cousin. How's business?" He paused, listening. "Well," he said, "It just got a whole lot better. Or worse. It seems you're having troubles with your water supply. Yeah. Really bad. You're going to have to shut down the resort for repairs and renovations. Yeah, it'll probably be at least a month or so." He chuckled. "Yes, Jaymo, of course I'll be paying. Yes, the whole place. Well, I'm sorry you'll have to cancel the reservations. But with a contaminated water supply, you simply have no choice." Another pause. "Yeah, I'll be out there tomorrow afternoon to survey the damage. I'll probably have to stick around to supervise the repairs. You know how these Filipino workers are." He laughed. "Okay, see you then."
Man's Hope Page 17