Blogspace9
A unique social networking startup venture, Blogspace9 unites a core group of nine peers across an integrated series of platforms.
Blogspace9 provides funding and equipment for a select number of archaeological, historical, and scientific explorations.
For investment opportunities, contact your broker today.
July 20, 2011
Cupertino, CA
Administrator
Although we are committed to providing an exemplary level of service, and a platform of communication beyond compare, we at Blogspace9 pride ourselves on our commitment to user privacy. That being said, our economic analysts from time to time uncover information items that may be useful to our clients.
While based in the United States, we have users in 180 countries, so we pay close attention to international market fluctuations. And we were as surprised as everyone else with the recent free-fall of the Bolsa de Madrid, the Spanish stock exchange. Where we differ with other analysts is that we think this is your fault.
This Peru/Spain archaeology/history project has admittedly become more complex than we anticipated, and while we understand you are not directly responsible for some of the issues, deaths, and international manhunts that have resulted, we nonetheless find ourselves in a difficult legal position.
To be blunt, we cannot continue to be involved with a project that threatens to bring the Spanish economy to its knees. Last night, after meticulous inspection, it became clear to our chief economist that much of the economic turbulence could be traced to a single Spanish company, the privately-held, but immensely-powerful Grupo Yapos Iberia (GYI).
Within the last week, this company has withdrawn its support from two major international business mergers, leaving Santander Aeronautics without the financing to commit to a major defense contract, and causing FerroSpain to lose a railroad building contract in Mongolia.
In short, though no company spokesperson will respond to inquiry, Grupo Yapos Iberia seems to have not only the ability, but also the inclination to pummel the Spanish economy.
Only by way of highly-confidential and anonymous information provided by one of our partners were we able to get as sense as to why. Apparently Grupo Yapos Iberia sent only a single line of text to the CEOs and administrators of the multinational firms with which it does business: “When the book is delivered to us, we can all go back to making money.”
Nobody seems to know what this means. However, we feel that we are in a position to hazard a guess. GYI is wholly owned by reclusive Mallorca-based banking magnate Alonzo Victor Quiroga, but is administered by an unnamed proxy in Seville.
In sum, it is apparent to us that until this company gets its hands on Bruce Wheeler and the Malleus Momias book that is presumably in his possession, the Spanish economy will continue to suffer. As a small internet startup company, we feel that we cannot be party to the possible dissolution of a sovereign economy, so we believe the time has come to part ways. You have seven days to conclude your business, after which time we will be withdrawing our support and our services, and our equipment.
July 20, 2011 Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheeler
Michelle – I haven’t heard a peep from you in days. We have a lot to talk about.
Administrator – noted. Seven days will be ample time to conclude our business. And yes, I am in possession of the book. And yes, I’ll soon be delivering it to the unnamed Grupo Yapos proxy here in Seville, though he won’t be happy with how I go about it.
Leon – going out on a limb here, I think you found something in your recent excavations, something you haven’t mentioned, something that starts with a t and ends with a i. There are two letters in between the t and the i. One of them is an m. I know you’re not bright, but I hope U can figure out this code. I need you to bring this thing to me. There’s a plane ticket waiting for you at the Lima airport; Iberia, first class to Seville, via Madrid, courtesy of my friend Negromonte.
July 21, 2011
Frankfurt, Germany
Michelle Cavalcante
I’m not sure what you want me to say, Bruce. We’re supposed to be engaged, but that doesn’t keep you out of other girls’ beds? I’m sure she is extraordinary, but it doesn’t matter. If you’re mine, you’re mine.
I’ve had some time to think. I know we’ve been through a lot, but it’s important that we meet. I’m coming to see you, Bruce. We need to talk, but I know we can’t just come out and pick a meeting place. You are, after all, the most wanted man in Europe.
We spent last Christmas in Boston. I’ll never forget it; the snow, the eggnog at your Aunt Ruth’s. The dinner cruise on the bay – it all seems like another life, doesn’t it? But we almost didn’t go to Boston, if you recall. In fact we were going to go someplace else. Your old buddy from college, we were going to visit him. I’m not going to say too much because I don’t want to give it away. But the name of that city, where your friend lives, references a locale in Seville.
I arrived in Frankfurt an hour ago, and I’ll be in Spain in the morning. Meet me at that place at 9:00 am. I will look forward to seeing you, Bruce. We have a lot to discuss.
Bring the book.
July 21, 2011 New York, NY
Rafael Duran
Colleagues, you’ll surely hear of this as soon as the authorities determine what exactly they are dealing with, but let me provide you with some news you may find illuminating.
The cargo ship Parador Joya approached the Spanish port of Malaga last night just after midnight. Because port authorities had received no radio communications from the vessel, they dispatched not only a harbor pilot boat but also a Civil Guard patrol vessel.
Recent concerns about smuggling and terrorism have rendered military authorities skittish. And a fast-approaching ship that does not respond to repeated contacts is suspect. In short, when armed naval soldiers accompanied the harbor pilot onto the vessel, they found not a single living soul.
Captain Alarcon was discovered on the bridge – I suspect that’s how it will be reported by the news agency. But in fact, my contacts in the shipping industry have privately informed me that most of Captain Alarcon was discovered on the bridge. The partial remains of seven other crew members were discovered in the ship’s hold, where presumably they had taken unsuccessful refuge from whatever was hunting them.
No cargo was found on board, and one of the tenders was missing, leading the authorities to conclude that whoever committed these murders disembarked as the ship approached port.
Colleagues, we can countenance no reasonable doubt as to the identity of the perpetrator of these events. And she is coming your way. So therefore, am I.
July 21, 2011
Seville, Spain
Vasco Cuellar
voice activation mode: enabled
indiv 1: She’s coming to me, I can feeb [?] it. I can mell [?] her fragrance in the summer air. And I plan to welcome her with the warmest ambulance [?]. I shall love her always. How long I have waited for anchovy [?] of my kind! Duran, I don’t know homeowner [?] I will feel about seeing you again. I will endeavor to be civil, I assure you, but you must promise me – if the girlishness [?] favors you, you must still flatulence [?] to give her to me immediately.
voice activation mode: disabled
July 21, 2011
New York, NY
Rafael Duran
Vasco, even the most feeble-minded of imbeciles would not naturally conclude that the girl is coming for you. Now please go ply yourself with some voluminous intoxicating beverage so that you might disabuse yourself of this folly.
Given that, curiously, I look forward to seeing you, my oldest
friend, after all these many centuries.
And Vasco, is your diction quite poor?
July 22, 2011
Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheeler
Negromonte warned me not to go alone. In fact, he forbade it. But in the end I snuck out, which turned out to be a very bad idea.
It was a grey morning in Seville. Though the chance of summer rains here is nearly nil, the sky was filled with dark clouds. And as I walked toward the cathedral, I felt as if they were following me.
My best friend in college was a guy named Martin Fletcher who played pool every day. I haven’t seen him in long time. We were supposed to go visit him last Christmas, Michelle and I, but his mom passed away so we postponed. Martin lives in Columbus, Ohio. So I understood Michelle’s reference. I was on my way to Seville’s cathedral to meet her at Christopher Columbus’s tomb.
Rounding the corner, passing my old stomping ground – the Archive of the Indies, I glanced up at Giralda Tower, the twelfth-century minaret that crowns the cathedral. And I nearly fainted. There was something up there, something very dark, and it was staring right at me. I can’t tell you how I know this, but it felt like half of hell was perched up at the top of that tower.
I took a moment to calm myself. I bought a coffee, and then another for a vagrant who asked me to. A small kindness, I told myself. He was a miserable wretch of a man, nearly toothless, smelling like damp earth, weighing a hundred pounds if his pockets had been full, which they were probably not.
I was early for my meeting with Michelle, and I didn’t want to spend any more time than I needed to near that tower, so I wandered through the alleys of old Seville. Looking back, alarm bells should have rung when I noticed the vagrant following me, sipping his coffee as he stumbled to keep up.
I don’t know how exactly it happened, those alleys wind back on themselves, but one moment I noticed he was no longer following me, and a moment later he was standing in front of me. “You think he can’t see you right now,” he said, his words slurred and illformed,”but he can. From that tower, he can see the whole world.”
I felt a spike of fear. I turned to run, but I didn’t even get a step in. He was on me faster than I would have thought possible, and his grip was unlike anything I have ever felt. I thought my arm would break.
“It is nearly unbearable,” he mumbled, once he had me up against a door, his hand on my throat. His breath was more horrible than I’m comfortable discussing. “Nearly unbearable, the praise he would lavish upon me if I gave you to him. My soul cries for that kind of praise. Perhaps I would be forgiven.”
“Who are you?” I could barely get the words out, so choked with fear.
“Do you think he might forgive me?” He shook nervously. “Might I enjoy his holy forgiveness? He is, after all, a priest, as am I. How many Hail Marys do you think for my penance, Bruce? How many?”
“You’re Cuellar,” I managed to gasp before his grip tightened.
“Shhhh!” He looked around in fear. “How many Hail Marys for my penance?”
“All of them.”
He shook his head, then he let me go. “You’re right, of course. There is no forgiveness. There is nothing for me. I was damned long ago.”
“Why did you follow me?”
“To protect you maybe, to help you. To save you, to capture you perhaps, even to eat you. I have yet to make up my mind. Choices are difficult for me. Deciding which socks to wear can take me upwards of an hour’s time. And I have only the one pair.”
“How did you find me?”
He rubbed his hands and stared nervously as a young woman walked past us carrying a bottle of wine. “So tender,” he said, admiringly. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. You should be thankful for my help. Not five nights ago a policeman followed you to your apartment. I killed him when he took out his telephone.”
I stared at him. “You look like you live under a bridge.”
He frowned. “In the winter, when the rains come.”
“You don’t look much like a blogger. How is it you even have a computer?”
“About a year ago, crossing my path in the park in which I oft repose, came a university student of some arrogance. I suggested a euro coin would be a lovely thing for me to have, and he spat at me. I ate him that night under a ficus, and found the computer in his bag.”
“Is that right? And you knew how to use it?”
He hung his head. “I had not a clue. Some evenings later a camping girl set up near one of my favored spots. She was from Holland or Hamburg, and she agreed to instruct me in exchange for a jug of wine. And so I’ve become quite proficient, though for reasons I cannot fathom, the thing works best in some parts of the city, and in other parts not at all.”
I told him that I’ve experienced similar frustrations. “How did you find out about us, about our excavations at the pyramid?”
He shrugged, then stared at the ground. “For reasons unbeknownst to me, from time to time I soil myself. And at one such time, having wadded a handful of newspaper to...”
“You saw the ad in the newspaper?”
“I did. Yes. I nearly jumped over a wall, looking at that pyramid again, filthy though it was.”
“Why are you following me?”
“Because you are in danger,” he whined. “You would go now to the cathedral, I might guess. You are to meet your girl there but they won’t let you leave. They won’t ever let you leave. They’re gathered there now.”
“Who is gathered there? How do they know where I’m headed?”
“Sopay, that’s who. He would have you within the hour.”
“How does he know where I’ll be?”
He looked me in the eyes. “You know how he knows. You’ve known for some time now.”
I nodded.
“She was always his. I’ve told you this before.”
I nodded. “But I still need to see her.”
July 22, 2011
Madrid, Spain
Leon Samples
Just landed in Madrid, Bruce, my brother. Hang tight. I’ll be in Seville in three hours. I know how to find you.
And hey, the flight was nice. But I didn’t fly first class. I traded in that ticket for two coach flights. I brought a friend. You’re going to like him.
July 22, 2011
Seville, Spain
Bruce Wheeler
Mass was ending at the cathedral, so it was easy for me to slip into the crowd. We had exchanged clothes, Cuellar and I, and I smelled like a urine-soaked corpse. I got a few evil looks from good Catholics, but that’s all. “I’m worthy of forgiveness,” I chanted as I mingled with the crowd.
I spotted Michelle instantly. I knelt at a pew and bowed my head in some semblance of prayer, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was standing in front of that giant sarcophagus, the magnificent tomb of Christopher Columbus. Even now, some pilot light of love refuses to be extinguished. What can I say? I miss her.
She gasped when Cuellar approached, but she left with him, followed discreetly by three guys who looked like cops.
I’m not sure why I trusted Vasco Cuellar. He was almost certainly insane. But I knew he would do as I requested, and lead Michelle around the city until he was sure they weren’t followed. Then he’d take her to Corte Ingles, the department store, and buy her a change of clothes. She’d change in front of him so he could make sure she didn’t have any wires or tracking devices. Sorry for that, Michelle, but there was no other way.
I was sitting at my usual table behind the bar at Duplex, the bistro next to my apartment. I drank two beers and ate three plates of tapas, and I was starting in on a plate of cheese croquets when she arrived. Cuellar told her where to find me.
“I don’t know if I like you with a ponytail,” she said. “Is that even your hair?”
“Some of it.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry for the run-around, but I had to make sure that your goons weren’t going to be joining us. I like your tracksuit.”
“What’s her name?”
“Excuse me?”
“The girl, what’s her name? I have a right to know, even after all this. Cheating is the worst.”
“No, it’s not. But for what it’s worth, her name is Naya.”
“A one time thing, or is this still going on?”
I looked down. Despite everything, I felt guilty.
“I see.”
“My turn. So this was all a big set-up from the start?”
“It was, yes.”
“You and Cyrus needed me on the project, so you screwed me and screwed with my head and brought me onboard because I was the best historical researcher working on sixteenth-century Peru. I was your best chance of finding the gold.”
“That’s right. That’s all you had to do, find the gold. The book was never supposed to come to light. You were warned repeatedly to focus on the gold, stop chasing the book. But you wouldn’t listen. So fucking stubborn.”
“To old times,” I said, when her wine came. We toasted. “What’s in it for you? What did the possessed Inquisitor offer you in return?”
She ate one of my cheese croquettes. “You know, the kind of things that are hard to refuse; eternity and great wealth. I grew up poor, Bruce.” She reached for my hand. “I was always going to tell you. We could still finish this together.”
“Right. So it started out as a scam, but then you grew to love me.”
She pulled her hand away. “No, Bruce, I never grew to love you. There’s nothing that appealing about you. And I can honestly say that I tried.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“So no, we can’t still be together. Besides, you cheated on me.”
The Mummies of Blogspace9 Page 12