The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  “It’s unusual. Never seen anything like it before.” He swiped a full glass from a passing waiter, and then tucked his gloved hand into his trouser pocket.

  Mary saw him wince with pain. “Was it wise to discharge yourself from hospital so soon?” Mary surprised herself with her own candour. It was none of her business what he chose to do.

  “Maybe not. But I got a lot of irons in the fire, so to speak. I cannot afford to leave things unattended.” He sank the remainder of his champagne and gestured for another.

  “You must be in a lot of pain.” She squinted and tilted her head away from another laser foray. “You are lucky to be alive.”

  Luca shrugged.

  The red beam wandered down Mary’s cleavage and encircled the rushed silk covering her breasts. It wavered, jogging up and down in synchrony with the little boy’s laughter. Straying to her left side, the beam hit the black jewel of the brooch at an oblique angle. At first, the gemstone glowed brightly with a golden hue. As Mary twisted her torso, a massive streak of light shot from the brooch and through the air, burning a gaping hole in the canvas turtle. The flames caught quickly, filling the sultry atmosphere with blackened smoke.

  Luca grabbed a jug of water from the buffet table and dowsed the flames licking up the eight-foot sign. Nothing could be done for the scorch marks on the stucco pillar behind.

  Empty jug in hand, the Senator stood slack jawed at Mary. Every CEO, celebrity and politician in the building, gaped in stupefaction.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Five hundred or more eyes settled first on the charred remains of the charity signage, and then on Mary. For a full ten seconds, everyone was still, perplexed by the origins of the fire. Mary shifted her weight from one stiletto to the other, glowing as hot as the embers. Luca plonked down the empty jug and lunged at the little urchin with the wicked red beam.

  “It’s okay, everyone. A bizarre mishap with a laser pointer and the lead crystal table vases. Who would have thought it possible, eh?” Luca dragged the boy from beneath the buffet and swung him from the scruff of his jacket. The laser pointer dropped with a clatter to the floor. Guests applauded Luca’s quick thinking and rapid action. The boy squirmed and writhed, kicking out and complaining, until his parents came to claim him.

  “Thank you.” Mary was humbled and equally confused. “But it wasn’t refraction from the vases.” Her utterance barely audible.

  “I know. I would keep that little gem under lock and key if I were you. My gut tells me that brooch was not meant for public display.” Luca tapped a waiter’s shoulder. “Can you bring me some ice? Good man.” He took out a cotton handkerchief from his pocket. His complexion greyed.

  “Are you alright?”

  Luca nodded, grabbing at the ice bucket and making his way towards the vestibule, while unbuttoning his jacket.

  Mary trailed after him. He stopped outside the gents; leaning heavily on the wall, his eyes closed, his mouth pinched.

  “Let me help you.” Mary took the pail of ice and opened the door to the men’s room. Luca rushed in and staggered to the wash basins. The two men standing at the urinals stood closer to the porcelain to shield their attributes from Mary’s view.

  Luca shucked off his dinner jacket. The cotton glove hampered his dexterity. He could not unbutton his dress shirt. His eyes squeezed, his brow furrowed; every attempt brought a fresh wave of agony. Mary threw down her clutch bag, and carefully unwound his bow tie, loosening the pressure on his neck. The burns wept through the lint of the bandage. Every time he swallowed the surgical tape on his neck pulled at his skin. The wound had begun healing within the cotton weave. Each movement Luca made, tore the wound open further. One gentle gesture at a time, Mary undressed the senator until he stood bronzed and naked to the waist. With a handful of ice chips bundled into his handkerchief, she cooled his fractal scars with light dabs, from his index finger, along his forearm and finally his shoulder. The neck wound required the lightest of touches. Mary peeled the tape from the bandage and inspected the inside edges of the cotton wadding, its yellowed patches evidence of further oozing.

  “It needs to come off, but it will really hurt when it does. And it could do with a thorough cleaning. You really ought to go back to the emergency room for sterile treatment.” Mary replaced the surgical tape and tamped it down against his skin.

  “Can’t, there’s too much at stake right now. Just rip it off for me.”

  “No, it will get infected. You need proper medical care.”

  “Come on, Mary. I did you a solid, payback time.”

  “That is crazy. You’ll end up with septicaemia… blood poisoning, on top of everything else.”

  “I have to keep going, I have a schedule; really important events. There’s a green sticker with a white cross on it behind you. That has to be first aid supplies. Patch me up, and I’ll be forever in your debt.” Her stubbornness faded when he produced the most alarming smile and took her soft hand in his. “Please, Just Mary?”

  How could she resist those mischievous blue eyes? She could swear they were faceted, glinting as brightly as Grandma Phebe’s brooch. “Fine. But don’t go suing me if you drop dead from some nasty secondary infection. Not that I have any money for you to take.”

  “How could I sue my very own Florence Nightingale?” His comedic tone dissolved in a spasm of pain. “Don’t suppose you could get me a nip of Brandy while you’re at it, could you?”

  Mary grabbed the first man to enter the rest room since the two others had departed and commanded him to go and fetch strong alcohol, preferably brandy. The man, at first bewildered, thought it a charming eccentricity of the little British woman in the men’s room issuing directives. He disappeared for no more than a couple minutes, returning with two tumblers of the establishment’s finest. By the time the man handed her the alcohol, she had unpacked the first aid box and donned latex gloves over her glamorous nails. Well-wishers and noisy onlookers gathered at the door. Mary shooed them away. Among them was Karan. He stood on tip toe, shouting her name above the chatter. Tasked with the job of keeping everyone at bay, her new errand boy closed the door and stood guard.

  “I really don’t understand why you couldn’t get a professional to do this. You could at least have a local anaesthetic.” Nervous rambling. She knew it, but couldn’t stop herself. Stalling, she lined up the sterile bandages and fresh tape along the vanity unit.

  “What’s the time?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that. Sounds like they have delayed the auction until you are fit to attend - you being a senator and all.” The jibe felt small, spiteful. Why was she behaving in this petulant way?

  “They can’t do that, it’ll ruin everything. Tell them to go ahead.”

  “What’s the hurry? Besides, after I have plucked up the courage to rip this off, it should be a quick turnaround. Remember, it’s okay if you want to cry…”

  Luca began to laugh. Loud, self-assured guffaws. When he threw his head back, Mary leaned forwards, grabbed the cotton wadding and yanked. Luca’s laughter transmuted into a howl, an intake of rapid breath and a series of expletives that made Mary cringe.

  “Sorry.” She looked at the remnants of his blistered flesh, still attached to the wadding. His neck was a mess. The impact of the lightning strike missed his jugular by a mere fraction. Medics had clearly debrided the blackened, necrotic skin, leaving raw, unprotected tissue. The fine tracery of scarring radiated from this wound in delicate tendrils of red welts. It could almost be mistaken for an elaborate tattoo. “It really needs a saline flush. The best I can offer is some of this antiseptic spray.” She waved the aerosol from the kit. “Any chance of an allergic reaction?” Luca shook his head. Sweat shone on his temples, dampening his hair. She grasped his hand with her left and let him squeeze it tight, as she sprayed the stinging powder coating on his skin.

  “Nearly done.” She said, tearing open the sterile strips and laying the gauze and wadding across his neck. “Hold this here.” He
did as she commanded, while she attached fresh tape to secure the bandage. “I think we can dispense with the tie, don’t you?” Luca smiled, and raised her hand to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers.

  A splash of cold water, a quick tidy up and they were good to go. Mary held on to the cotton glove while he buttoned his shirt over his toned stomach muscles and pectorals. Mary could feel the heat rising from inside.

  “Come on, Just Mary. We need to get a move on.” He took the glove from her. Restored to his former ebullience, Luca charged through the rest room door to the waiting crowd.

  “Why do we need to get a move on?”

  He didn’t answer her. She slipped out of the men’s room behind Luca and tried to mingle with his entourage. The questions began immediately.

  “Do you need us to call an emergency team? Are you fit for service, senator? Will this prevent you from presenting your bill to the house next week? Have you got the votes, Luca?” and so on, in a barrage of interrogating questions mixed with sycophantic platitudes. He slipped the cotton glove back onto his left hand and held both aloft. The group quietened down.

  “I am fine, thanks to my new friend, Just Mary…” He looked around at the faces before him. “Oh, where did she go? Anyway, a little medical pit stop, and I am ready to bid on something expensive and unnecessary. Can we get back to the auction, ladies and gentlemen? It is, after all, why we are all here tonight. I will answer your questions regarding my proposals tomorrow.”

  Karan pushed through the spectators and approached Mary. “I looked everywhere for you, until someone said that you were in the men’s room with the senator for California.”

  “Yes, what of it?”

  “What was I to think? UN Ambassador and Indian royalty not enough for you? You go chasing after the Chief of the Environmental Protection Agency.”

  “I didn’t chase after him. He was suffering, I helped. He was struck by lightning you know. Besides, you went off with your buddy from the Extermination Squad… oops, sorry, I mean the CEO of pharmaceutical giant, Phlaxo. What was it this time? The cost of sterilising little girls was too much so she agreed to drowning puppies instead?”

  “Don’t be like this, Mary. Yes, we argued, but it’s not what you think.”

  A gong resonated throughout the ballroom, indicating a start to the auction. Luca’s crowd dissipated, wandering through to their allotted tables. More glasses of champagne were delivered as the compere took centre stage and adjusted the microphone. The first of the lots sold quickly. A warm up, staged to whip the crowds into a fever. It was a luxury safari holiday to Kenya, capturing the wildlife through a digital lens with an expert photographer. A woman in green taffeta and hair like spun sugar outbid a gnarly business executive by ten thousand dollars.

  The second, third and fourth lots followed in much the same way. Mary yawned. Karan’s diplomatic flag was at full mast again. He smiled, replied in curt sentences and nodded at the appropriate moments, but the Karan she had met beneath the arches of The Grand Temple in the estate grounds at Ditchley in Oxford, had gone. There seemed little point in explaining her actions. She doubted he would have listened anyway. No matter how hard we try we seem to always end in a fight. I owe him so much. He has been nothing but kind and generous towards me and I repay him with snippy retorts. Mary twisted in her seat to face Karan. Her movements caught his attention. She lay her hand over his and leaned into his ear. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to quarrel either.”

  He smiled his reply and patted her hand with metered affection.

  The next lot was a diamond encrusted tiara, bequeathed to the charity along with a substantial number of necklaces and bracelets. The recently deceased patron had written her wishes for the auction into her will. The garish pieces sat on cushioned pillows, encased in glass boxes and wired with trip alarms for protection. From a side door, a young lady in a red gown, sashayed to the tiara stand, waited for the guard to unlock the alarm mechanism and lifted the headpiece high above the front row of tables. The crowd murmured their praise for the obscene item, and the bids commenced.

  The compere slowed the bidding to enunciate clearly how many hundreds of thousands of dollars the guests were pledging. With each rising bid, the crowd cooed their approval, egging the buyers on in their gambits.

  That was when the first masked man entered the hall. Jack boots, camouflage fatigues and a full cover latex hood, fashioned to resemble the president of the United States of America. The host stammered, his chin wobbled and he stepped back from the podium.

  “What is happening?” Karan said, rising from his chair to achieve a better view. The masked man fired a volley of shots from his semi-automatic weapon at the ceiling. Karan sat down, ducking his head behind the woman to his right. Plaster fell in ugly lumps onto the tables, sending crockery and silverware crashing. Guests coughed through the dust clouds, and moved away from the broken glass and debris.

  Three more masked men, and one woman, entered through the waiters’ entrance, each of them carrying similar firearms and shoving numerous staff into the hall. They marched themselves around the edges of the ballroom and aimed at random people seated before them. The leader strode to the podium, flicking the barrel of his gun at the compere. “Move!”

  The host scampered down the podium steps. A dark stain of liquid seeped down the leg of his suit.

  The gunman took hold of the microphone from its stand. “Do exactly as you are told and no one will get hurt.” The murmurs grew in volume. These people were not used to taking orders. This was not Mary’s first encounter with malicious gunmen. Her heart raced, but she kept her wits about her. There was little she could do to help matters, but stay cool-headed and comply with demands. Karan trembled at her side. She stole a glance over to Luca. Unlike those on his table, there was no outward appearance of hysteria. Perhaps he has a military background. So many of those political types seem to over here. Why is he looking at his watch? Before Mary could fathom an answer to her own musings, the leader of the group stepped up.

  “First and foremost, shut the fuck up. All of you.” The gunman yelled. It had the desired effect. Old wealth and newly powerful, all did as they were instructed. “Leave your purses, phones and shit on the tables and line up along that wall.” He turned to the guard on stage. “Don’t be a hero. Hand over the firearm and keys.” The guard unclipped the gun holster and retractable key chain from his belt, and passed them over. “Now go stand over there.”

  Karan, Mary and all the other dignitaries jostled and shambled in a disorderly mass to the farthest wall. The single armed woman made a point of cracking the butt of her semi-automatic into Luca’s shoulder blade. He fell forwards onto Karan, who braced himself to steady the senator’s gait.

  “Are you alright, Senator Bonovich?” Karan enquired. His innate manners manifesting even in times of peril.

  “Shut it! Speak again and I will fire.” She waved the end of the weapon beneath Karan’s nose. Chastised, he stared at the floor. The trembling multiplied into violent shakes. Mary grasped his hand tight.

  The gunmen had assigned duties, and got to work fast. The woman patrolled the line of elite guests. Mary watched one man take a plastic sack and scoop up all the mobile phones, purses, wallets and bags from the tables. Another systematically emptied each of the display plinths of valuables, while another zipped the Kandinsky into a portfolio. Waiting until the woman with the gun reached the end of the line, Mary unhooked Grandma Phebe’s brooch from her dress, and dropped it down her cleavage into her underwear. Knives, brooches, spilt food and drink. Let’s just hope they don’t make us strip. They can have everything else, but not Phebe’s brooch. Still Mary held onto Karan’s hand. He gave her a brief look of incredulity, at the risk she had taken to conceal her inheritance.

  The gun woman returned to the centre of the line. She took immense pleasure in goading the senator. Shoving him backwards with her gun until his head connected with the wall behind, before continuing her patrol. The man with th
e portfolio, leaned the Kandinsky against the door frame of the exit and returned with a small fabric bag. Starting at one end of the line, he gestured towards the woman’s ruby necklace and matching earrings. “Off” was all he needed to say. The woman immediately, removed the items, dropping them into the bag.

  “You want my rings too?” She said. The man tutted and sighed. She peeled each ring from her fingers, trying to force the tightest band over her wrinkled knuckle. Stripped of all her baubles, he moved on to the next in line. As the gun man walked along the row, guests made ready with their treasured belongings. The woman with the semi-automatic shadowed her colleague, aiming at each of the attendee as they disgorged their Cartier, Tiffany’s and Patek Philippe watches and jewels into the bag.

  The pair were closing in on Mary’s right-hand side. Karan let go of her hand and crossed his wrists together in front of him. Mary peeked down. He was trying to flick the clasp of his watch open with the nail of his thumb. It made a metallic clink, the strap sagged and the watch slid down his hand. For all his charm, Karan was not subtle. His attempts to pocket his watch was noticed.

  “Hey, hey! What’s this one up to? Show me your hands.” The woman said, aiming her firearm at Karan’s chest. “Come on, show me your hands.”

  “It’s nothing…” Karan let go of the watch, it made another loud chinking noise as it hit the bottom of his jacket pocket. Karan displayed his empty hands. “See, I have nothing.”

  Mary knew what was coming, she could sense the antagonism building within the sadistic woman.

  “Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up? Get whatever is in your pocket and show me.” She pointed the end of the semi-automatic from his jacket side to his chest.

  “It’s nothing…”

  The woman took a pace forwards, raising the weapon to shoulder height. At a distance of no more than six feet, there was no chance of her missing. Karan closed his mouth. His eyes widened and fixed. The fear paralysed him. Mary touched Karan’s sleeve, turning to face him. Luca edged closer to Karan from the opposite side, delivering an imploring look to Mary. A look which said, don’t interfere; don’t involve yourself. Still Karan blanched on the spot.