Fantasy Whatever Gets You through the Night by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Dietz watched on the television someone finally went out and bought as his men went up in explosive failure. Through a long-lensed news camera on the ground, he saw the girl they thought was Contessa run and hug the woman who'd been driving the truck. A tall, bald man joined them before they were surrounded by soldiers and entered an Armored Personnel Carrier. The television remote's casing cracked in his hand before he hurled it at the postcard on the wall.

"Not only did those assholes fail, they failed to kill the WRONG Contessa!" He shouted at the men milling around the safehouse. "If they'd at least SUCCEEDED in killing the wrong woman, it might have demoralized the real Contessa into cancelling the film!" The camera zoomed in on the other woman as she turned around and they got a good close-up of her. And for the first time, Heinrich Dietz laid eyes on Contessa Helena de San Finzione's face. And understood that this minor inconvenience would, if anything, increase her resolve. He looked for the remote, remembered that he'd just thrown it across the room, and turned off the TV by hand. He turned to Dummkopf.

"Tell me, Dummkopf, that while you were 'renting this place,' you found others where we could fall back to, because this is the time to do such a thing. Tell me you've done this much right so that I don't leave you behind with a bullet in your head."

"Jawohl!" Dummkopf replied quickly. "I have arranged other places to hide nearby."

Dietz gave him a sadistic smile.

"Then you live to disappoint me another day." He turned back to the others. "Clear everything out! We are changing locations. They were in a studio van, wore studio uniforms, and had the proper papers from the film studio. If she hasn't caught our agent already, she will soon! Any parts of THOSE fools that might have survived could lead her back here! I wish to be gone before then.

The Nazis began unplugging computers and gathering papers to abandon their safehouse.

* * *

The medics in the APC confirmed that Lady Maria was unharmed and were now examining La Contessa and Mander.

"Well, Dearest One." Helen said to Maria as someone looked in her ears. "I made certain you wouldn't die in a fast car for a reason."

"Thank you, Great-Grandmama." Maria said, sitting back in her seat. "I did not die in THAT sports car TODAY!"

Helen smiled and accepted the small victory. As soon as they'd determined that her hearing had recovered, she got out her phone and called Ramirez.

"Hernando, are you with Luc?"

"Si, Contessa." Ramirez shouted over the siren of his vehicle. "Ortega has been keeping me updated on the other line, we are heading toward you now. We found the mole, but... he won't be answering any questions."

"I see. Ok, meet us at the castle. If Luc and/or Mander need to meet up and have a round of 'Who's More Macho' or whatever before we can all play nice, let's get it out of the way now." Mander shook his head and made a gesture to indicate that it wouldn't be needed. "Mander says he's cool with it. When you get to the castle, meet us in the War Room. If you still have Ortega on the other line, tell him to come, too."

"Si, Contessa. Your study in the Palace?"

"No." Helen replied. "The new one in the Government Wing. See, I was thrown to the ground by his first shot and temporarily out of it when he attacked Maria. Until I recovered, I was unable to perform my duties during that time; which means that Dietz has now committed..."

She waited for Ramirez to complete the sentence.

"A direct crime against La Contessa Herself. I understand." They ended the call.

* * *

Ramirez told his driver to go faster as he and Luc sat in the back seat. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

"Lady Maria is safe. You and I are needed at the castle at once."

Luc nodded. He'd been catching up on the news on his iPad.

"Dietz wouldn't be fool enough to try to hit the castle again.

"That's not why we're needed." Ramirez told him "He has attacked Lady Maria. We are needed to talk La Contessa out of declaring Open Season on Heinrich Dietz."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 09

"He's tryin' to survive up on Mulholland Drive,
he's got the phone in the car in his hand.
Ev'ybody's tryin' a be a friend of mine.
Even a dog can shake hands.

He wants twenty percen' cause he knew you back when.
Now, they all want a piece of the band.
Ev'ybody's tryin' a be a friend of mine
Even a dog can shake hands."
-Warren Zevon, "Even A Dog Can Shake Hands"

A short time before parts of La Collina began exploding, Detective Inspector Luc Tomas Allaine and Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez strolled through the main gate of San Finzione Studios and across the lot to the office. The Generalissimo was dressed in civilian clothes, but still carried his sidearm.

"I have some idea of what I am doing here, Hernando." Luc told his old friend as they walked. "Don't you have some Armed Forces to Supremely Command?"

"By order of La Contessa," Hernando replied. "I am on paid training leave but to remain on call while you are in town. She is calling this 'counter-intelligence training.' By order of Violeta, La Contessa is not taking it out of the unused leave time I have already accrued. I owe them a holiday soon."

Luc had to think for a moment on that.

"That brings up something I'd never thought about before. You live 'Where the World Takes Its Vacation.' Where would you take your family for a holiday from this place? California? Hawaii? Florida? You have beaches, theme parks, and casinos already here! Unless you're keen on winter activities, where else would you go?"

"American comedians ask this question and suggest we enjoy going to New Jersey or Detroit. Having four official languages means that people like to go where they know at least one of them. Then there are the countries we have long-standing agreements with; Australia, Genovia, Svenborgia, Greece, and so on. Violeta likes to go to Spain and show El Niños their roots."

Although Luc had a badge and Ramirez was known to everyone in the country, they'd still been issued visitors' badges. Rounding a corner crossing between the rows of sets, Luc looked at the crowd of men and women in World War II period clothing milling about with men in SS and Wehrmacht uniforms.

"How do you spot a Nazi in a Nazi stack?" Luc asked Ramirez.

"I doubt that you are making a joke." He replied, surveying the milling crowd himself. "If the question was not rhetorical, I do not know."

"It was. Merely stating that if 'Aryan' and 'possibly dressed as a Nazi' was what we had to go on, this would be difficult."

Hernando agreed.

"'The Sword of San Finzione' was in what La Contessa tells me they call 'Production Hell' for almost a year. However, because she owns the studio, the film was absolutely going to get made. Actors and extras who look the part have been pouring into the city for the past few months hoping to be cast. If we didn't have a good sketch, Dietz could simply put on a costume and move about this place freely."

"Oui," Luc replied as they approached the office. "The Studio might, indeed, be a good place to hole up for that reason if it weren't too obvious a move for Dietz. He has a temper and is cruel to his subordinates, but he is still careful and no idiot. He'd suspect that we'd send people to the studio in the vain hope that one of these Nazis will suddenly turn around and be him."

Luc looked around to make certain no one else was in earshot before speaking to Hernando at a lower volume.

"La Contessa could come and use her ability and make this very quick."

Ramirez did the same before replying to Luc's statement about San Finzione's simultaneously worst-kept state secret and most popular urban legend.

"Si, she was able to confirm that the new director checks out. However, with all the people on the cast and crew of a big movie, gathering them into one place to do it to all of them at once would be impossible and one at a time or groups would take forever. If we weren't lucky enough to find him within the first couple groups, even if she made them forget, word would get out and tip off the spy."

Luc understood.

"And we may not even be looking for someone on the film itself. Anyone with access to the office could have gotten those. Why I told Fontaine and the others at the briefing to quietly look in on custodial staff at home, during their off-hours. We don't need the entire office crawling all over the studio questioning janitors to complicate our end of the investigation."

Ramirez smiled at the "our" in Luc's sentence. He said nothing more until they entered the office.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Generalissimo." The receptionist said, rising to her feet. "Do I... er... salute you?"

Ramirez removed his baseball cap and gestured down to his Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

"I am out of uniform today, so I will forgive it. Also, I don't recall seeing you around the base, so I'll presume that you're not a soldier and, for future reference, tell you that it's not required."

Hernando gestured to Luc and took a step back, letting her know that he was the man to be talking to. The Detective Inspector walked up to the receptionist's desk and let his badge drop with a thud. He noted that the woman jumped slightly but sat back down and looked at the badge.

"My apologies," Luc said as he picked it back up, making a display of showing it to her as he took it back. "I am sometimes clumsy. I am Detective Inspector Allaine with Interpol. I would like to speak to whomever oversees your Mail Room, please."

The receptionist got on the phone to the supervisor. While she spoke, Ramirez leaned over and whispered to Luc.

"We don't want to see the head of the studio or someone in personnel?" He asked.

"Always begin with the people who push carts." Luc whispered back. "They're the next on the list above custodians as 'the invisible servants who see everything.' I doubt we'll be lucky enough to find he's ordered a copy of Mein Kampf to be delivered to the office, but the people at the bottom are the ones who notice such things and talk amongst themselves about them."

Ramirez nodded as the receptionist directed them to the Mail Room. He continued the discussion as they walked.

"That might not even be enough. If one of the Nazi officers is a Method Actor, he may read it simply for the role." He thought a moment as they approached the right door. "Why did you drop your badge like that?"

"I also doubted we'd be lucky enough to find 'The Receptionist Did It,' but if we were, it might have panicked her into action, and saved us a lot of time."

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

They entered the mail room. The manager was already leaving his office to greet them. He stepped up and shook both men's hands.

"Sir, Officer." He nodded to each, leaning in to speak discreetly. "I'd normally ask if there's a problem; but the two of you are here, so I should probably ask, 'What's the problem?'"

Luc smiled at that.

"Merci. There may well be, however, it is not right here. May we discuss this in your office?"

He led the way. The two took seats as he closed the door and blinds, then sat at his desk. Luc took a breath and began.

"I am here looking into a matter whose details must presently remain classified. The Generalissimo can verify this, correct?"

He turned to Ramirez. Ramirez saw his look, then turned to the manager with a serious one of his own.

"Si. Classified... to the highest levels. A National Security matter. So, you understand that nothing that is said must leave this room."

Ramirez turned back to Luc and nodded. Luc continued.

"So, I will need to borrow your computer for a moment, and I have a few questions I need to ask. Would you mind? I should not need to look at anything personal."

Luc made a gesture of offering to trade seats with the man. He nodded and agreed. They switched chairs and Luc brought up the screen.

"Now, my first question... I am sorry, I haven't even asked your name yet, sir."

"Uh, Ted, sir. Sorry."

"Merci, Ted. You oversee the people who deliver the mail to various parts of the studio, Oui?"

"Yes." Ted replied. "Mostly within the offices here, but also throughout the lot."

"I see." Luc started typing. "So, when your people come back from their rounds, I'm certain they have things to say about the people whom they deliver to."

When Luc got as far as Ted's access could go, he produced a flash drive and stuck it into a USB slot.

"Excuse me, what are you..." Ted started to say before Ramirez raised a calming hand toward him.

"National security." The Generalissimo told him. "He knows what he's doing."

Luc nodded to him as well.

"Nothing that will leave a trace. Those flyers you put out to notify people of filming in the area; is there a printing press that those are made with?"

"No." Ted replied. "They print them up on the second floor."

"Merci." Luc said with a nod as he resumed typing, looking for the second-floor printer queues. "Now, back to my earlier question. Is there someone who makes a lot of complaints about their mail? Oh, I'm certain there's always someone complaining, but this person would be special. Someone who's often rude or hostile to your delivery people?"

Ted thought a moment on it before answering.

"It happens sometimes. Movie people tend to be... emotional. Someone complains that we bring them too many bills and junk mail. The package they wanted didn't arrive and it's our fault. Occasionally, one of our female employees has an issue and per La Contessa's orders, those matters are taken seriously and dealt with quickly."

"The person we're looking for may or may not harass women. He almost certainly, though, has a problem with non-whites. He might not be violent or make outright racial slurs, but he's likely harder on them than the rest of your team. Possibly someone who frequently complains to you about trivial matters."

Ted didn't have to think long to answer.

"Yes, there's someone like that. Jerry Scott, one of the pencil-pushers upstairs. He's never gone far enough to be put on report, but... forcing me to think about it now, yes, his complaints tend to vary by skin tone."

Luc found a printer that had done a lot of copying and started searching for the history, particularly, the number of copies made at any one time.

"I see. Is he near Printer #4? The one closest to the supply room."

"I don't know their numbers, but yes, he's near the office supplies."

Luc smiled as he found what he'd been looking for: A much smaller print job than the usual amount. He tracked it back through the queue to see which computer had sent the order. He read the name G. Scott. He then removed his flash drive.

"Ted, you have my gratitude." Luc said, looking to Ramirez. He recognized the cue and followed suit.

"Si. And you have the gratitude of the Government of San Finzione. Again, nothing that has been said or done must leave this room."

Ted nodded. The two men took their leave and headed toward the elevator.

"What did you find?" The Generalissimo asked Luc while they waited.

"I imagined that when they send people out with those flyers, they print out several hundred at once; possibly thousands, depending on where they're filming. Five days ago, after the time I imagine most of the office leaves for the day, A G; his real name is probably Gerald, Scott sent a job to that printer for a hundred copies."

"Enough to canvas a couple of streets or a block." Ramirez replied with a nod. "But he got the paper color wrong."

They stepped into the elevator and hit the button for 2.

"Oui." Luc replied. "He did this after hours and he has access to the supply cabinets. Not a difficult scenario to picture: You're staying late to print something when everyone else is gone. But the printer for the flyers has been printing them all day. The thing must go through a ton of ink and paper. So, you hit a snag. Whoever used the last of the paper didn't refill it before they left for the day. You need some colored paper, so you go to the supply room. Where they're probably out of pink and more won't be delivered until morning, so you grab a ream of the next-best thing; red.

"And when you take something from supplies; say, you can't find your scissors, so you go to the supply room and you get a new pair of scissors. Shortly after, your old scissors turn up. Do you return the second pair back to the supply room? No. You now either have two pairs of scissors in your desk or one of them finds its way into your briefcase at the end of the day and now you have a pair at home. 'A little thing everyone does from time to time.' You think nothing of it; your employer is exploiting you, it's only fair. So, you help yourself to a few pens and notepads and such; the fatcats can afford it. But what use could he have for that much red paper at home?"

Ramirez followed his logic.

"So, if you've just taken a ream of red paper from the supply room and you don't think anyone will notice it amiss, but you can't just leave it and let someone find it in the printer in the morning. And you're so used to taking what you want from the supply room that it simply doesn't occur to you to return the rest..."

"There is a good chance that you still have a ream of red paper with a hundred or so sheets missing in your desk, Oui."

They stepped out of the elevator. Luc took note of the Fire Exit map on the wall, noting where the Supply Room was. Ramirez asked where he might find Jerry Scott. The woman pointed to his cubicle.

Halfway to his cubicle, Jerry Scott stepped out of it, headed for the break room, which was behind them. He looked at the two men, recognized the Generalissimo instantly, and darted in the opposite direction, toward the fire exit.

They sprinted after, ordering him to stop, while he ran through the door into the stairwell. Ramirez had spent less time behind a desk lately and ran through the door first, seeing his head disappear down the stairs. As Luc ran behind, Hernando hopped one of the railings and saw the man fishing for something in his pocket. He ran down and leaped another, now close enough to Scott to tackle. Scott found whatever he was searching for in his pocket and stuck it in his mouth before Ramirez pounced off the stairs and dove for him. He caught Scott around the waist and forced him to the ground. As they hit, a crackling noise came from Scott's mouth.

Luc caught up while Ramirez turned Scott over, seeing the rage burning in his eyes and blood trailing from his mouth. He started going limp as Ramirez grabbed hold of Scott by the collar and kept him pinned. Luc drew his gun and pointed it at the man's head. He noticed a foam starting to appear on his lips, smelled something that Ramirez couldn't, and grabbed Scott by the throat.

"Cyanide!" He explained to Ramirez as he squeezed as hard as he could to prevent the man from swallowing, but he was too late.

"Hei..." Scott tried to stammer out through the foam and blood. "Heil Hit..."

And then he lapsed into unconsciousness. And was gone.

Ramirez rose to his feet and took out his phone to call the Prefect.

* * *

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Prefect LeGrasse and La Policia arrived to take charge of the scene. Others who arrived on the scene that, like Luc, were members of the 50% of humanity that can smell cyanide; confirmed the bitter almond scent. The crackling that Ramirez heard had been the glass capsule breaking as he went down. Ramirez apologized to the Prefect that he hadn't been able to bring Luc by headquarters to meet and that they were doing so for the first time now. Ramirez had mentioned Luc often enough that LeGrasse partially knew him. La Policia blocked off the crime scene while the three of them went upstairs to Jerry Scott's cubicle.

"As I expected." Luc said, opening the larger, bottom drawer of his desk and finding the remaining paper immediately. "There is more here." He sat at Scott's chair and looked at his surroundings. "He worked here for months; longer than Dietz could have hidden in San Finzione. Dietz is the sort of boss who could inspire enough fear into his underlings to take cyanide rather than be captured. It's more likely that he was another True Believer. He tried to make his last words 'Heil Hitler,' after all. I think the mole was already in place; which means his address is probably real."

"It was random chance that he walked out of his cubicle and saw us approach." Hernando told the Prefect. "He didn't have time to destroy or sabotage anything." He turned back to Luc. "If he worked here for months, then that address should be checked out."

"Oui. I may have been incorrect yesterday about it being a trap. If he'd had that long to prepare, Dietz wouldn't have done this sloppy a job. This man was already here. He may not have been a plant at all, simply a bigot who tried to keep it under wraps. So he did what bigots who can't express their hate freely do; take it out on those lower on the chain than himself. I imagine his home will be a lot more telling of his character."

Luc stuck his flash drive into Scott's computer and bypassed his login.

LeGrasse leaned over to Ramirez and spoke quietly.

"How does he do this?" He asked the Generalissimo.

"He's explained it to me twice and I still couldn't tell you." Hernando replied.

"His boss said that Scott's job was overseeing maintenance. Approving work orders, filing expense reports and such. We know what he did a few days ago, but he was genuinely spooked to see YOU, Hernando! I'm no one famous, but everyone in this country has seen you on television or in a newspaper. You could have been here for a number of reasons and you're not even in uniform today. They're making a WWII film; you may be consulting on it, sharing your knowledge of San Finzione's military history. You're handsome enough that they may want you for a cameo. The printer thing happened days ago; and he imagined he'd gotten away with it or why keep coming to work unless it's your real job. So, what business could the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces have had with Jerry Scott? Non, he did something TODAY that gave him reason to know his cover was blown the moment he saw you! Reason to take his cyanide rather then let us take him alive. And I want to see it!"

Luc found what he was looking for shortly before the Prefect's phone began to ring with a call from La Contessa, followed a moment later by the Generalissimo's phone chiming in with a call from Ortega. He looked at an order for a repair van that had been signed out early this morning with paperwork to perform maintenance on the vehicles at Castle Finzione that the studio was renting for the movie. It was dated for about half-an-hour ago.

Luc turned and saw both men had turned their backs to each other, taken a couple of steps away, and were now having very intense conversations. He was going to ask if there was any filming scheduled the day after the director's murder when he took note of the two conversations going on.

LeGrasse seemed to be discussing an urgent matter in the neighborhood around the castle. Ramirez seemed to be hearing a story about Snow White being chased by a tank. The Prefect's call ended before Ramirez's.

"Incident on La Collina!" He shouted to his men as he ran down the stairs toward his car. "I want every available..."

The closing of the fire door muted the rest of his conversation. Ramirez motioned for Luc to follow him to the elevator, then put Ortega on hold and ordered his driver to come pick them up. Ramirez told Luc what he knew about the situation at the castle and Lady Maria before returning to his call and entering the elevator.

On their way to the scene, Ramirez spoke to La Contessa and told his driver to take them to the castle instead.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 10


"Through the gates of Hell! As we make our way to Heaven!

Through the Nazi lines!

PRIMO VICTORIA!

On the 6th of June! On the shores of Western Europe!

1944!

D-DAY UPON US!"

-Sabaton, "Primo Victoria"

Luc and Ramirez were the last to arrive at the meeting, stopping so that Luc could examine the van the tank crew had used to get into the castle. He spotted the smuggling compartments that had been carved into the van's interior and concluded that they'd been a rush job, but good enough to pass a gate inspection if the guards don't start pulling up the floors and walls. Since they had Scott's paperwork from the studio, they weren't suspicious enough to warrant that detailed a search.

"If they'd had more time and better tools," Detective Inspector Allaine told the people seated around the table in Castle Finzione's War Room. "A better job could have been done. Jerry Scott signed the van out this morning, and they needed to be here by noon. So, they could only do a rush job; someone on Heinrich Dietz's team is at least that competent. Once they were past the gate, they emptied their toolboxes; they'd done their job of 'guard looks in the toolbox, sees only tools.' They used those toolboxes to smuggle the ammunition from the van to the tank, rather than cart belts of machine-gun ammo out in the open. Why they hadn't had time to load it all. The Prefect's people found more."

He sat back down at the conference table. Contessa Helena de San Finzione sat at the head of the table. Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez sat to her left and Lady Maria sat to her right. Across from Luc sat Prefect Martin LeGrasse. Capitan Gregario Ortega and Minister of Intelligence Howard Caldwell-Pierce were next down the line. At the foot of the table, in a spot that had been reserved for a guest that the Generalissimo had persuaded La Contessa not to invite, sat Nigel Mander. The meeting was taking place in English because it was a language everyone at the table understood.

La Contessa lit a cigarette and looked at the rotating holographic image of the van's interior that was floating above the projector in the center of the table.

"Yeah, we figured they wouldn't have any local criminal contacts; no access to a chop shop." She said before turning to the Prefect. "You look like you have a question, Martin."

He cleared his throat before answering.

"Oui, Contessa. I know that he... performs certain tasks... for La Contessa. However, I must ask why he has a seat at the table."

"We had an empty seat." Helen responded, shooting a brief look at Ramirez. She could have done The Thing to make him allow the guest she'd wanted to bring in on this meeting, but she had promised herself after the assassination attempt to never deliberately do it to him again. "And yes, Mander usually requires payment. However, for this job, he's working Pro Boner."

Helen smirked a little, Maria smirked harder. Mander held it in as they waited in silence for someone to ask the question. The Minister of Intelligence finally did so.

"Isn't that 'Pro Bono,' Contessa?"

"Nah." Mander answered. "Means I'm jes' doin' it fer the boner I get from killin' Nazis."

The table erupted into laughter, especially Maria and Helen, who'd heard the joke earlier. The Prefect returned to his seat, knowing that was the best answer he'd get. Lady Maria spoke up once everyone calmed down.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"If someone on his team is a vehicle expert, it certainly wasn't the driver of that tank." Maria told the room. "I was more afraid that he'd run someone over to get to me than of them getting me."

Before the others had arrived, Mander had asked Her Countessness privately if Her Princessness should attend the top-level meeting given what she'd just been through.

"It's a part of my world that I'd hoped to have a couple more years before having to introduce her to; but she'll need to get used to, nonetheless." Helen told him at the time. "And she has to know what to do if anything happens to me. So yes, Maria comes to the Big Kids' meetings now."

Luc took in Lady Maria's observation.

"Dietz is not simply hard on the people he works with, he's mean to them." The holographic display changed to a rotating image of Heinrich Dietz's head. La Contessa glared at it, then noticed that others were as well. "Gives them cruel nicknames based on what he thinks of them. He wouldn't waste a man who's probably suffering with being called 'Knows Cars but Otherwise Useless' on a cheap gamble like 'use one of the tanks at the castle to try and kill Lady Maria.'"

Helen took a drag and spoke.

"If it weren't for the fact that this is a secure area and Howard's people checked it before any of us entered, I'd say he's trying to mimic Vincenzo." She waited for the round of 'Forever does he reign in our hearts' before continuing. "Doing little things to force us into a meeting like this, then hit us now. Fortunately," Helen took a long drag before resuming. "I've read that script and know how it ends."

She motioned for LeGrasse to take his turn. He stood.

"Of course, we've had many reports of property damage and calls about traumatic stress from witnesses. A couple of injuries from falls and falling objects; one old man had a heart attack and he is at hospital, but no civilians directly harmed by the incident itself. Lady Maria did a fine job of keeping The People safe."

He looked to Maria with a nod and a smile. She returned them. He continued.

"The wreckage of the tank will probably still be too hot for Forensics to properly examine until sometime tomorrow. For now, I've got people going over the van and the body of the one that Monsieur Mander took down."

"Just Mander, thanks." Mander spoke up. "Sorry, go on."

"Mmm." LeGrasse Mmmed. "Based on the Generalissimo and Detective Inspector's encounter with the spy at the studio, we already searched the body and found what appears to be a glass capsule wrapped in heavy cloth. It's being sent to the Ministry of Science. We're fairly certain that this, too, will turn out to be cyanide. It's likely all the men had them."

Mander spoke up again.

"Yeah, ya see, Your Countessness? That guy at the studio sounds like another Nazi fanatic like Dietz. But he must've given it to the tanker wankers before they set out. And they'd be willing to take it, cause it'd be better than going back and getting bitched out for 'Failing Zer Fuhrer.'"

Helen agreed.

"He can't command respect, so fear's just as good. I know the type well." She saw that Maria seemed to have something to say and looked to her next.

"Si." Maria agreed. "The Detective Inspector said that he is a legacy." She looked at the men around the table to explain. "My boyfriend is a private citizen; he does not care for fancy parties and nightclubs. However, he understands that my duties often require that I be SEEN living La Dolce Vita. That even if Great-Grandmama and the nation are in a crisis, I must remain the unworried princess so that The People retain some normalcy in their lives and their children still have someone to look to in those times."

Helena reached out and patted her great-granddaughter's hand. She turned, smiled, then resumed her point.

"My point is that I am sometimes forced to be seen associating with 'legacies' like Luc described. Boys whose sole purpose for existing is to inherit. Trust fund babies who were born with an express pass to the fast lane. Whose first words were 'Do you know who my father is?' Dietz seems like he would be the Nazi version of that." She put on a mocking German accent. "Do you know who mein grandfather vas? How many of ze 'lesser races' my family has killed?" She then switched back to her own voice. "Like the boys in the clubs, he probably keeps his hangers-on in line the same way; using his name and family history to impress and intimidate them."

La Contessa and Luc nodded at Maria's point. The others got it a moment later and did the same.

"Oui, an ineffective way to manage one's people. They were so afraid of the consequences of failure that they failed. Right now, there is probably a group of even more frightened men packing up to change locations." Luc saw that some at the table didn't follow his logic. "He wasn't expecting them to survive. Dietz probably gave the order to shut it all down and relocate the moment they left. Certainly, after it made the news."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Then we haven't a moment to lose." Helen said pointing at the Prefect with her cigarette. "Martin, I want every cop available on the street looking for them. If they're moving, they're in the open; which means he's vulnerable right now." She then pointed to the Minister of Intelligence. "Howard, any undercover agents who aren't too busy should be out there as well." She pointed to Ramirez. "I don't think we're going to need the Army or the Ultimados for this, but I want them on standby."

Ortega nodded his understanding. Ramirez did the same, then looked Helen in the eye.

"Contessa," the Generalissimo said evenly. "May I have a word in private?"

Helen put out her cigarette. The last time one of them formally requested a private word with the other, she'd had a gun pointed at him that she'd commanded him to ignore while his hand was on his own. She nodded.

"Certainly, Generalissimo." Helen said, standing up. "Let's take this to my office. Seems to be a trend lately. The rest of you have your instructions; those who don't can do what you want for now. If there's anything else, take it up with Maria. Dismissed."

The two left the War Room for La Contessa's office in the Government Wing.

* * *

La Contessa preferred to work out of her study in the Palace Wing. Helen only visited her office in the Government Wing a couple of times a week; mostly to sign papers and do official things. She only went to her office in the Business Wing a couple of times a month. Unless she could get out of going to that side of the building and having to deal with La Familia.

Ramirez walked over to a low credenza, atop which, a coffee maker stood, and checked that the staff had replaced the water daily and maintained stock of the items he knew he'd need. He then turned it on. It hissed, then clear, heated water began to fill it as he reached for a cup with the crest of La Familia Royale de San Finzione and grabbed the cocoa.

"You've never made me cocoa, Hernando. Violeta always insists."

"I asked Señor Equals for Propappou's recipe a while back. In case I ever needed to do it myself."

"Something's very much on your mind, Hernando. I grew up around a soldier, Generalissimo. You're one of the handful of people who need never ask for my permission to speak freely."

"Si." He replied, scooping some into the empty cup and setting it down before moving to a chair and waiting to be given leave to sit. La Contessa gave it and did the same. "And this is what it is: What does La Contessa believe that she is doing?"

Helen was taken a bit aback by the unusual question and understood why Ramirez heated water for cocoa before beginning. She lit a cigarette before giving her answer.

"I am getting ready to scour the streets and countryside to find an Enemy of San Finzione. One who committed a direct crime against La Contessa herself; and it seems like a good moment to act!"

"Si." Ramirez responded, taking out his cigarettes and lighting one of his own. "By attacking Lady Maria while you were down, he did, indeed, do this. Even if she wasn't Contessa, it would still be a crime against the Monarchy. With consequences just as grave. But now you are upright, back in power, and bringing the full force of the law against him. This is your right as Reigning Monarch. And because you ARE Reigning Monarch; and also the woman I've worked for and alongside these last few years, I know that once we catch him, YOU plan to hold Dietz's trial HERE, don't you? In the Throne Room he left to you! You'll Hold Court and you'll hear his case yourself! For the Good of The People!" Ramirez sensed that his own voice was rising and took it back down a little. "And once there, you shall pronounce judgment based upon the decisions you have already made. Because our laws allow you to do this. Then what? Will you have him executed? Will he join Santori and Igazi where we both know you're keeping them? Or will you stab him and throw him off a building like Whyte?"

"You realize you're defending a Nazi here, right, Hernando?"

"No. I am defending my Contessa from taking a path that her husband would never lead his nation down!"

"He's killed once already! If we blame HIM for the pawns he's already sacrificed and the old man in the hospital if doesn't make it, more than once!" She replied with a drag, anger rising. "He would have killed Maria if she hadn't believed in the family curse all her life! And those two are still alive; they're just being tortured round the clock for the rest of their natural lives!"

"Si! And Count Vincenzo, forever does he reign in our hearts, he would want MORE such stains on his country and his Contessa's souls? Souls that you may not believe in, but he did!"

"I believe in souls. And Susan's right that the only way life makes sense is if all this shit is for SOMEONE'S amusement. I'm just not going to give it the satisfaction after all it's done to me. That's why I call it 'All-Powerful Athiesmo.' Susan likes to call it 'The Foul and Profane Masked Thing That Controls Our Destinies' for some reason. I think it's too cute to ask."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"And Grandpapa Count's soul is in Heaven. Probably playing poker and sharing his ideas to make the world a better place with my papa, Jesus and Martin Luther King. Because if there is anyone whom I truly believe is in Heaven right now, it is he and my parents!"

He took a drag to calm down before continuing.

"And I know for a fact that he is keeping his eye on San Finzione and yourself all the while. Would he want EITHER of us sending the Army into Little Uongo to break down doors and search room-to-room for Dietz? Into the homes of people who fled Kiburi and the warlords to San Finzione! Because YOU promised them that THEY would find a new life HERE where they NO LONGER had to live in fear of exactly THIS!"

He stood, leaned against the credenza, and calmed down again. Ramirez then stood at attention before gesturing to the stars on his shoulders.

"YOU gave me these; because you trusted that I would not carry out an immoral order. Is the woman who pinned them on me one more threat to a loved one away from giving me such an order herself? Will she 'make it a command?'"

"Never!" Helen answered as Ramirez sat back down and took a drag of his own. "Because I respect you and still beat myself up for not thinking to exclude YOU during the Morgan thing!"

"It is the sort of thing you are heading toward." He replied.

"Sometimes, even ruling this place involves difficult choices." She leaned forward and put her elbows on the desk, taking a puff. "I know I can't just go after him myself; I had that conversation with Troy yesterday."

"Si. And right now, everyone except Lady Maria whom you think of as loved ones are safely on the other side of the world. Colleen is a phone call away, but I know you will not call her because you fear putting her in danger of the kind that we both recognize Lady Maria must be prepared to handle. As she did today, and La Contessa must deal with every day. So, you called Mander instead; whose job title may as well be 'Royal Assassin.' And HE is now sitting in the War Room, occupying the seat that was originally for someone I respect even less than him!"

"Mander's more of an all-purpose criminal. When I say, 'don't kill anybody who doesn't deserve it,' Mander gets what I mean. He works for pay, but I get that he also cares. I can GET us plain-old assassins, but we've got the Ultimados, so it seems redundant!"

"Si. This is why I did not object to Mander's presence at the meeting. I've worked with her long enough to know that La Contessa needed someone she regards as 'a fellow criminal' for comfort in the room. I objected to your plan to invite Don Nessuno! I'm sure he would have been HAPPY to loan YOU a few hitmen just to settle a few markers! You wanted to invite the Mafia to the War Room!"

"I have the same understanding with the Nessuno Family that Vincenzo did!" Helen raised her voice to him for the first time. "Mine's a little better because of The Thing; but with the same lack of trust, and recognition of a useful ally to call upon in times like this. Vincenzo understood that creating a Paradise on Earth means that you need to sometimes, if not deal, then have an arrangement with The Devil!"

"Si. He did. He understood a lot of things. I know. Has it not occurred to you that some of us who were born here, lived our lives under his rule, have memories of him too?"

"Oh, I'm reminded multiple times a day!"

"I'm not talking about things like that. I'm talking about the day I met him personally, years before he brought you home. La Contessa knew him like no other for the last two-and-a-half years of his life. And you met him in another country. He spoke to my graduation class, when I made it into El Squadra de Ultimados."

Helen calmed down at that.

"What happened? What did he say?" Helen asked.

Ramirez stood up and walked over to the coffee pot that had now finished heating the water.

"Call a page." He told her. "Call for your robes of office. Have them bring the tiara and scepter up from the Vault as well."

"Hernando, if you're doing this to make some kind of point..."

He cut her off. Which he hadn't done before. Helen looked at him quizzically.

"Si." He got a second cup out and started scooping cocoa into the cups before adding the water. "And my point is that MY personal story of meeting Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione the First is not one I see fit to tell the person whom you currently believe yourself. It is not a story to be told to 'a criminal!' It should be told to his wife. The mother of Vincenzo the Second, one of my godsons; and the woman to whom he entrusted his country: Contessa Helena de San Finzione. I know that there is only one living man who has complete liberty to speak to you however he wishes. He is not here; I am not him. Therefore, I will tell this story only to my Contessa. The woman he found worthy of marrying after losing his first wife and mourning her for decades. After losing his children and grandchildren. After some of us spent our entire lives watching him put on a kind, brave face for The People! Until THAT woman came along! So, she is the one who to whom I will the tale."

"I could command you to tell me. I could order you to do it."

"Si. We both know that you won't."

Helen let that hang in the air a moment. She thought about how when Vincenzo really first saw her, she'd been dressed to go prowl clubs and find people worth fucking with Julie. She'd then gotten in an ugly fight with Julie that put any such thoughts on hold for the next few years, so she wasn't entirely looking her best the second time. She considered making a joke reminding Ramirez that he was a married man.

She decided against it. She picked up the phone to call for her robes and the Crown Jewels. They smoked while Nunzio fetched everything.

La Contessa changed into her robes behind a screen kept in the office for this purpose.

Helena's emerald-green robes trailed behind her as she walked to the cart that Nunzio had brought up from the vault. He confirmed that the Generalissimo had gotten La Contessa's cocoa correct before leaving them again.

She picked up the tiara and gave Ramirez a "do I have to" look. His reply was to stir his cocoa in silence. Helena put the tiara on and returned to her desk. She picked up her cocoa and took a sip. La Contessa then picked up her golden scepter and waited for him to begin. After a sip of his own, Ramirez began to speak.

"As I said, it was the day I made it into El Squadra..."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 11

"I was staying at a Marriott, with Jesus and John Wayne.
I was waiting for a chariot; they were waiting for a train.
And the sky was full of carrion. 'I'll take the mezuma.'
Said Jesus to Marion, 'That's the 3:10 to Yuma.
My ride's here.'"
-Warren Zevon, "My Ride's Here"

Sargento Hernando Ramirez listened to Generalissimo Armando Santori drone on about the fine job he'd done ordering others to mold them into Ultimados. It was a closed ceremony in Fort Ernesto's gymnasium, and Violeta sat with the other four men's families, smiling at Hernando. He flashed her a brief smile back.

Santori would stress the word "men" when he spoke of how proud he was of his new Special Forces troops. It was unnecessary. The Generalissimo only begrudgingly allowed women to join the military. Hernando knew of female soldiers who were qualified for El Squadra, but Santori would always find one reason or another to reject their applications. Or, if she appealed and made it around his head, her training exercises would get harder and more strenuous until she quit, or he found another excuse to toss her out. Some of the trainees, including himself, had asked their instructors to give them the greater challenges that the Generalissimo ordered for female recruits, believing that it would make them better Ultimados. It would be many years before he would become someone who could change the current Generalissimo's unspoken policies on the matter.

An MP stepped in the door and gave Santori a signal to cut it short. He cleared his throat and stood to full height.

"And now, gentlemen, a special guest would like a few words."

Ramirez detected an undercurrent of jealousy. It was quickly dismissed as everyone stood when the band began to play "Glory to San Finzione." When the singer came in was when HE stepped through the door.

The great man, his hair and beard prematurely gray from the things he'd seen and done for His People, walking into the gymnasium and crossing the green carpet toward the stage and waiting podium. The man who avenged his parents, took back his country from Hitler, and turned the nation's fortunes so well that Hernando's own grandparents emigrated from Spain to start their restaurant in the place they fell in love with on their honeymoon. Grandparents who told him of the times that he and Contessa Sofia would dine there. Until the country lost her, and Grandpapa Count stopped going out of the castle for meals.

When his grandmother was upset, sometimes she'd tell less kind stories of how boorish the other members of La Familia de San Finzione had been; that they were such pigs that she was hardly surprised that many of his children and grandchildren had died the way they tended. But never did his grandmother or anyone else seem to have a bad word to say about him; Count Vincenzo Ramon de San Finzione.

He walked proudly to the microphone, as if he owned the building. Which, being Count, he did. Ramirez recalled the words of some Arabic tourists when he'd worked the restaurant as a teenager. A word he'd learned from them entered his mind: Baraka. It didn't have an easy translation. "Power" and "majesty" were inadequate terms for it. "Charisma" didn't quite fit either, because places as well as people could have it. They'd explained it to him as "the sense of awe and grandeur that one feels while visiting powerful holy places or in the presence of important, influential people." It was Baraka that his Count made him feel as he approached. Had he made eye contact? Ramirez had been too busy standing to attention with the others to be certain.

The Count approached the microphone. Everyone sat back down and waited for him to begin speaking. First, he spoke the name of each man aloud, including Ramirez's own. He then adjusted the lectern so that he could see both the audience in the bleachers and the men on stage with him. The room was silent as wood scbangd on wood. The new recruits started to get up to help their Count, but he gave them a gesture that said "I've got this, and finally finished facing it the way he wanted.

"Thank you all. I apologize, I have spoken at a number of graduations and I have never gotten used to giving a speech for people to whom I am turning my back."

The audience chuckled at his comment. Then the hush fell over the room again, and he spoke.

"I will not say that I am proud of you. This would be redundant. You are soldiers of San Finzione; I was proud of each of you the moment you enlisted. I will say that you have excelled in the most rigorous, intense training that our military can provide; both physical and psychological. And I am honored to welcome you into the esteemed ranks of the men who came before you."

The audience applauded. He waited for it to end before continuing.

"La Squadra de Ultimados was formed to do whatever it took to recover our country from those who'd stolen it from us. Our mission was not vengeance, our mission was to restore liberty to our people. To save them from an enemy. Our purpose was righteous, and that was why they succeeded."

More light applause.

"This is still the job that has passed on to you; protecting San Finzione from her enemies. You have been granted the authority to take a life if it is necessary to do so. I hope that it is never required of you. You have all endured the experience of waterboarding, so that you will understand what you would be doing to a person should you resort to measures that San Finzione will never ask of you. And I have given you powers above all other citizens of San Finzione, because I trust you to use them wisely. It would please me if your careers are so boring that they are never needed."

There was silence as he paused this time.

"San Finzione is a nation of peace. Transforming ourselves into a place where all the world feels welcome required us to be. Our armed forces are here to protect The People, not to conquer. I stand here today with no intention of sending you on 'adventures' in other countries simply to enforce my will upon their people. You will not be silencing The Count's Enemies or taking out unfriendly governments. If every bullet you fire again is on the shooting range, if every fight you ever get in happens on a mat or canvas in this room, if the only kills any of you rack up should be in wargames with your fellow soldiers, if your biggest complaint when you retire is that you never saw combat; then when I join the San Finziones of Old, I shall know that I ruled correctly."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

The families applauded this. The Count gestured to them and addressed the graduates. This time, Ramirez KNEW he was looking right at him!

"MY fondest hope for San Finzione and for you," Vincenzo said to his new Ultimados. "Is that you come home to THEM for dinner each night complaining of how boring work was today. How you spent it training and conducting readiness drills for the call that I never made. That the only medals you should receive are for winning competitions, noble deeds, and long service. Should I need to give you a medal for killing in San Finzione's name, THEN I shall say that I am proud of you! Because it means that you succeeded after I failed to keep us at peace. That is why you will be here for San Finzione. In case diplomacy fails... in case I fail San Finzione. Because I am only a man, therefore, I can fail. In many ways.

"If I ever declare martial law for any reason other than disaster or invasion, I will fail her. If I need to send you to aid our allies because it was within my power to keep peace and I did not, I will fail her. That is when I shall turn to you. You are not here to be the very best. You ARE the very best, so YOU are here for when your COUNT fails to live up to YOU!"

The audience's applause increased. The Count knew he'd said enough and reached for their scrolls. His back stiffened for a moment as he stood back upright. Hernando and the others rose to help him.

"I am fine." He said after rising with a small clicking noise. Ramirez noticed that the Generalissimo was the only one on stage who hadn't moved to assist the Count. He recovered and walked to their chairs, saying each man's name again. When Vincenzo stood before Hernando, he stopped for a moment, looking the Sargento in the eye before bending slightly forward to hand Ramirez his. When he rose to accept it rather than make his Count bend again so soon, he realized that the Count was subtly beckoning for him to do so. When they were close enough to whisper, The Count spoke to him.

"A new Ultimado should not have such concern in his eyes. Talk to me in the hall afterwards."

Vincenzo casually moved on. Hernando looked at Violeta, holding up the diploma he'd just been given; for now, it truly felt like he'd graduated to something rather than simply passed tests. She saw the look on his face that said "Did you see that? He SPOKE to me!" He saw the "I totally DID see that! That's so damn cool!" look on her face in response.

The Count remained in the hall afterwards for autographs and pictures with the Ultimados and their families. The Generalissimo often had to be quietly nudged out of those photos. By the time he made it to Hernando and Violeta, Santori had gotten the message and was trying to interest others in his autograph or pictures with him.

The Count put his arm around Hernando and gave a big grin and a thumbs-up to Violeta before she took the picture.

"You had something on your mind at the ceremony, Ramirez, did you not?" The Count said to him quietly before changing to a handshake pose for the next shot. "I hope my speech did not sound too rehearsed."

It took him a second to realize that Vincenzo wanted him to respond before he did so.

"Si, sir. My Count." He replied. "And no, The Count's speech was quite inspirational. It was a minor concern. A nagging thought."

"Did you see me stop and say anything to the other men, Ramirez? I would not have done so if I thought my Ultimados' concerns minor."

"No, My Count." Hernando replied quietly enough to keep anyone from hearing. "I did not see you stop and talk to the other MEN." He stressed the word. "The Count has spoken at many such ceremonies, Si?" Vincenzo nodded, sensing that the man's point was something he hadn't thought about before. "And you have handed out a number of these scrolls. Have you ever handed one to a woman, Sir?" Vincenzo thought on that and Ramirez concluded. "I know a number of women who are qualified for El Squadra. If My Count has his reasons for never handing one to a woman, then it is not my place to question."

"Quite the opposite, Hernando." Vincenzo replied, both Ramirez and Violeta smiling that he'd remembered his name. "Lie to others outside the service all you please. I would not entrust you with all that I have this day if I did not want to hear the truth from you. And you have told me a truth that I overlooked." He glanced over at Santori, still glad-handing with the other families. "I have a good idea of the answer to your question, but the reasoning is not mine. He's already noticed that I've spoken to you more than the others. If I confront him now, he'll know it was because you brought it to my attention. I just promised yourself, your lovely lady, and everyone else in that room that I would do all that I could to make your career as boring as possible. If he knows that you are the one who brought this to my attention, it will be anything but! Right now, you are just a 'special favorite' I have singled out. This may help in future dealings with your Supreme Commander. Once his memory of this day fades, I can act on this with no risk to you."

Hernando nodded, then switched places with Violeta so that she could get her own pictures with Count Vincenzo.

"It's such an honor to meet you, My Count." Violeta told him.

"Meeting a lady as beautiful as yourself is always MY honor."

Vincenzo took Violeta's hand and held it up to kiss for the photo. He noticed Santori was walking toward them as Ramirez snapped the picture.

"My Count? Sargento?" He paused for a moment, not knowing Violeta's name. "Ma'am." He finally said. He then turned back to the Count. "I hope your visit is going well, my Count."

"It certainly is, Armando." Vincenzo replied. "I was just complimenting the Sargento on his fine test scores." The Generalissimo looked confused. "Surely, you too read their instructors' reports before the ceremony."

"Ah yes, sir, of course." Armando made it clear that he hadn't.

The Count put his arm around Violeta and let Ramirez take another picture before approaching the Generalissimo.

"Excellent!" The Count said, shaking Hernando and Violeta's hands goodbye. "Then you can give me details as you walk me to my limo. Sargento, Mrs. Sargento?" Vincenzo realized that he hadn't heard the woman's name yet.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Violeta, My Count." She responded with an attempt at a curtsey. The Count bowed in response. He then walked over to Hernando, looked at Violeta, and whispered to him.

"Don't let go of that one." He told Ramirez. "She's got a spirit."

He smiled as the Count shook his hand again. The Count then guided the Generalissimo toward the door.

"So, Armando, tell me more about the new recruits." The Count said as they approached the exit.

"Well, My Count, there is not a lot to say..." Santori said, holding the door for him.

Then it closed, and The Count was gone.

* * *

"He wasn't able to keep that promise; to make our careers boring." Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez said to Contessa Helena de San Finzione as she sat in the royal robes, listening intently. "The next year, 9/11 happened. The year after, Kiburi came into power in Uongo. Other threats came, and he ended up needing to send us to other countries after all. If he ever brought the subject up again with Santori, forgot, or simply never found the right moment, I do not know."

"I know he remembered you. It never came up, but I know. Your name probably came up occasionally when Vincenzo had to speak with him. Santori enjoyed taking credit for the things he ordered others to do and he'd have noticed that Vincenzo had his eye on you." Helena replied, making use of the box of tissues she'd taken from her desk during Hernando's story. "Vincenzo would have wanted to avoid connecting you to the subject, because that would only have landed you on Santori's shit list."

"Si. And you changed this policy the moment I brought it to your attention on my first day as Generalissimo. And once I'd altered it to make it possible to accomplish, Santori's 'special training regimen for women' became the standard that all must pass. As we all suspected back then, without the tests being rigged, it made them better Ultimados than we ourselves."

"I know that before Armando brought shame to it; the name Santori meant something in this country. Most of the military supported him because of what the family did for San Finzione back then. After, like Whyte, he had an Old Boy Network to dismantle."

"This was why I only dared pursue the matter so far. Every time I saw the Count again, he would be officiating a parade or on a tour of the base. I never got another chance to speak to him. If the man I met and the man you married were the same, he meant the words he said to me that day until his last. And I know what he would have to say about things like imposing curfews and setting up checkpoints at every corner. All are meant to feel welcome and safe here. How can The People make others feel welcome if they must fear their own government?"

She lit a cigarette as she took it all in. She thought about how often her friends had said that she took things too far. How she'd never liked rules, so she always made her own. Ramirez, having spoken to her friends often now, guessed that this was what was on her mind.

"Principles are an inconvenience." He told her. "Often, that is precisely their point. Dietz had a long list of lives for which he must answer before he added Eliot Silverman's."

Helena took another drag. Listening to Ramirez now, it occurred to her that she'd been to the crime scene, but she hadn't gone into Eliot's home. She'd have to go take a look around.

"Ok, then." She told her Generalissimo at last. "No terrorizing the populace to get him; sound advice. Thank you. So, what's MY next move? You're my advisor, advise me."

"You have already told the best, most capable people I know and Mander what to do. The best thing that I believe La Contessa can do now is consider her next move. Because I have learned that this is a thing that SHE is best, most capable of doing."

Helen took a drag of her cigarette once more before smiling at the man.

"I knew there were reasons I let you live after Uongo, Ramirez. Glad I listened to them."

"As am I. La Contessa gave the right orders in that room. I needed to know that they were for the right reasons."

"Ok. Maybe we don't need to bring the Nessuno Family in on this." She relaxed a bit and drank some of her cocoa. "Luc seems unaccustomed to being listened to." She told him after setting it down.

"He has some issues with his supervisor. It is nothing."

"Hernando, you just finished telling me a story about how Vincenzo wouldn't let something important go with 'it's nothing.' We've got a little time now; I need to go get changed again and Nunzio or someone else needs to take this stuff back to the Vault." She stepped behind the screen to change. "So, tell me what the problem is with his supervisor."

* * *

La Contessa and the Generalissimo returned to the War Room. Maria, Luc, and Mander were the only three left in the room, as the others had gone about their tasks.

"You didn't have to wait for us." Helen told them.

"We were talking." Maria replied. "Luc says we should release the real sketch of Dietz now instead of the fake."

"Oui." Luc agreed. "He knows we're on to him, there's no point in trying to deceive him otherwise. Having the citizenry looking out for him now would be a good move." He turned to Maria. "I shouldn't worry about your boyfriend, Lady Maria. He's told La Policia everything he saw and given them Dietz's description. The damage has been done and he would reason that Stavro and the boy are under protection. He now has nothing to gain and everything to lose by trying to silence the witness or take revenge."

Helen agreed. There was no point trying to fool him now. She texted LeGrasse to release the real sketch to the media. She got a text in reply and set the phone down.

"Martin says that Scott's residence has been secured if you'd like to see if you can find anything more there, Luc." He nodded and looked to Ramirez, who did the same. "I'd like to check out Eliot's house as well. So far, we don't even know what Dietz wants except that everything seems to revolve around the movie. Mander, we can do that while they're checking Scott's."

"What should I do, Great-Grandmama?" Maria asked.

Helen turned to Maria and hugged her. She'd done so four times since saving her from the tank.

"What I need now more than anything from you, Dearest One, is to know that you're ok. Take a nap, call Stavro to the castle; I'll send a car. Hell, bring the whole Poldouris family, too. They've never gotten to really see the place. Or go online and pick out your new car; something around the castle." Helen took a breath. "Right now, Maria, it's your Contessa who needs you to be the unworried princess." Maria nodded. The three of them rose. Luc and Ramirez left to check Scott's residence and Maria went to find something to do that wouldn't add to her Great-Grandmama's problems.

"So." Mander said once they were alone again. "We're gonna do some B&E?"

"E, yes." Helen replied. "B, not needed. La Contessa, remember?"

"That's gotta take the fun out of a lotta shit."

"It totally DOES!" Helen said as they walked to select a less-smashed vehicle from the Autorimessa to drive. "I mean, I don't take things anymore; if I see something I really like, I'll buy it from them. But you know how it is; sometimes you see a really nice house and you gotta see what kind of STUFF they've got in there, ya know?" Mander nodded in agreement as she continued. "Then you fuck up and set off an alarm and the cops show up and they're all 'Oh, it's you, Contessa, our apologies.' At LEAST fuckin' book me! It's not the same if I gotta TELL you to do it!"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

They left the room.

* * *

Heinrich Dietz looked at the woman on the laptop's screen as he read Wikipedia's entry on Contessa Helena de San Finzione. He saw her two royal portraits side-by-side and clicked to enlarge them. Behind him, men hurriedly took down maps and loaded their equipment into a van.

"This woman has TWO royal portraits and the other only has one. And you picked the younger of the two. I am rethinking your name, Good One."

Good One stood there trying to think of something to say, stifling the urge to explain that he thought the more Italian of the two women was La Contessa and that the other was an advertising model he'd seen on television, but thought better of it. Any explanation would be regarded as an excuse, and he knew what those got.

"I..." Good One stammered. "I trust she will be no difficulty for you, sir."

Dietz was too busy looking into La Contessa's eyes in the first portrait to give a snide answer. It interested him more than the more recent one, where she seemed happier.

"A challenge, perhaps. The older picture tells me more about her. She's casing the joint; you can see in her eyes that she's looking for the exits. In the one on the right, she is accustomed to things. In the one on the left, she doesn't think she belongs there. That's the real woman; a thief!"

Dietz closed the laptop and unplugged it, going through the motel room they'd been hiding in and making sure that there was nothing left behind.

"Let's be gone. Good One, ride up front with Knows Cars But Nothing Else."

Good One put on his red wig, opened the door, and walked outside to the van that had been backed up to the door. Seeing no one, he motioned for Dietz that it was safe. He darted into the van and slammed the rear doors behind him. Good One got into the passenger seat and they drove into the Afternoon Sun of San Finzione.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 12


"Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner. (Time, time, time for another peaceful war.)

Norway's bravest son. (But time stands still for Roland 'til he evens up the score.)

They can still see his headless body stalking through the night,

in the muzzle-flash of Roland's Thompson Gun.

In the muzzle-flash of Roland's Thompson Gun."

-Warren Zevon, "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner"

Note: I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Events back in December are still having repercussions in my life and I'm in the process of dealing with them. Previously discussed issues have been running rampant, and it's become necessary to remove stressors wherever I can. I'm not getting paid for this, so two that are 100% within my power to deal with are self-imposed deadlines and self-imposed page counts.

But we ain't been slack, Captain Walker. Every night, we does The Tell. The last couple of chapters and this one have been a bit short even for my tastes. They've just ended where I felt they needed to, like this one. The story's being written and it's going to keep being written. Ultimately, though, I'm NOT getting paid and never really promised weekly updates, so I'm not going to worry about it. I will say that a good part of Chapter 13 is already done, because I started Luc & Ramirez's scene, then realized that it was going to be similar enough to this one that it, too, should get its own chapter, so they'll be the focus of the next one.

"I shoulda known you'd have one of these for Troy." Nigel Mander said to Contessa Helena de San Finzione as he held open the passenger door of the 1965 Aston-Martin DB-V he'd selected from the garage. "Proper color and everything. Surprised it ain't the real one."

"The museum won't part with the original," Helen explained once he'd gotten in the driver's seat. I've tried everything but crime and The Thing because I know Troy would just return it if I got it those ways. One of those 'how you got it DOES matter, Helen' people. Yes, he prefers to drive this or the Esprit when he's in town. The Bentley's an even bigger gas-guzzler. I'm surprised you picked this over Bessie." She gestured to the 3rd Doctor's Edwardian roadster, right between the 1976 Lotus Esprit S1 and the 1967 Lotus Seven.

"I'll wanna try out Bessie too before I leave. But yeah, he's got a point: How do ya NOT choose the Goldfinger Car?" Mander said as they pulled out of the garage and to the castle gate. "So, here's a question for Your Countessness; since she knows all about movies now. And all I could tell ya is that the true winners in 'Batman v Superman' were Thomas & Martha Wayne for getting' shot right at the beginning and not havin' to sit through the rest of Zack Snyder's 'vision.'"

Helen hmmed agreement.

"Wouldn't say I know all about them." Helen replied, activating the cigarette lighter and getting one out of her black Prada Arcade bag. "Commercials aren't quite the same thing and I've done a couple cameos, but for the most part, my job's Executive Producing. It's like being a Producer but simultaneously more vital AND a bigger pain in the ass for the artists."

"The movie's taking place here in the 1940s. And it were between the Nazis and San Finzione. So, why're so many Americans working on it? I know you've got a bunch working at the studio; which brings up a related question: How do you get an entire movie studio to pack up and move to another country?"

"Well, you buy it first." Helen replied, rolling down the window to breathe her smoke out and away from Mander. "Then you build a new lot here and, if you don't know shit about movies, offer incentives for the ones who do to relocate to San Finzione and keep their jobs for more money in OUR society and economy rather than Los Angeles'."

"Ok, that makes sense," Mander said, taking it in. "What about the ones who can't or just don't wanna pack up their lives and move to another country?"

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"They're given severance and if they want to apply at another Società Finzione business, their info stays on file with a note about how they parted with us on good terms. It's hard to both screen everyone who takes the offer AND not leave the others out in the cold. But you try anyway because it's just fucking human. I won't deny I needed Troy's help figuring it out. Scott was at the second rung of middle-management. High enough to get the offer; low enough not to meet personally or do more of a background check than we would for any work visa. Same reason we can't just drive to the studio and I command anyone else involved to step forward: Even if the others came to help me, we still couldn't do it to the entire studio. Too many people to do all at once and too many to do in groups without raising suspicion."

Mander snorted at that.

"That's gotta be Hell for a closet Nazi," Mander responded. "Going around all day, hating everyone who's not like you and wishin' you could get away from 'em all. Then you get an offer to move to Fuckin' San Finzione! Better money, it goes farther, ya get to live in Super Vegas But Classier! All that and, best of all, your American understanding of the world tells you that Europe's all white folk like yerself? Everything you ever hoped for! So, you jump on it, sell the car, sell the house, move your life here. Then when ya land, expecting Whiteopia, ya find out that outside America, even people of other colors get more holiday time a year then you've ever had and can afford to take vacations! And ya need to keep a tighter lid on yer hate than ya ever did in The States?"

"Mmm-hmm." Helen mmm-hmmed. "Wade would only get good and properly racist when he didn't have to worry about anyone kicking his ass for it. Other stuff, but not racist. Except that big bit right at the end, there." Helen blew smoke out the window and continued. "I don't think he'd have gone far enough to 'join ze party.' Too many rules and there's probably dues to pay. That would've cut into drinking money." She took a longer drag to clear him from her mind. "Back to your earlier question; yes. We had a number of recent American transplants and are expecting more once FinTech's ready. To address the Zack Snyder thing, I haven't forgiven him for the constant mispronunciation of 'Leonidas' in '300.' That 'i' makes an 'e' sound in Greek. Yes, it's a transliteration, it's a BAD one! We can ask Troilus' cousin Leonidas about it! Did you even fucking TALK to a Greek before you began filming?"

"That 'fiddle with the camera speed' thing was cool back in '300;' but ok, what OTHER tricks ya got, Snyder? I mean, he isn't BAD; 'Dawn of the Dead' and 'Watchmen' were cool, he just ain't what you'd call GOOD, either."

"OK," Helen said, taking another puff. "The guy ain't murdered either of our parents. He's not a hack, just not a good fit for us. Having a lot of big names on your movies makes you money. Being the one who discovers the new talent and gives them their shot, though? That's legitimately profitable AND satisfying. I can get Jason Statham to make a cameo. In more ways than one. Fact, we're still hoping to get him to be one of the three OSS agents we had to write into the story so Americans would go see it. For at least half the cast, though, this is their first big break. The leads are all unknown. Gino Giovanni, Tad Chase; even Larry Compton, the new director, is making their debut."

"Tad Chase." Mander chewed on it. "Ok, no way that's not made up! You gotta go to four different stores to find a name like that."

"That's Finnywood for you," Helen said, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray. Troy knew that it was too cool a car for Helen to not also want to drive and accepted that Helen smoking in it was a Law of the Universe. "Ok, that was just the first thing that popped into my head. Società Finzione's Traditional Method of Naming Stuff be damned; I don't CARE that we only got it to cover up The Thing! I WILL take us to war before allowing our movie industry to be called Finnywood!"

* * *

By the time they made it down La Collina, people were going back to work from the midday break, the multiple detours that needed to be set up, and the still-smoking wreckage of the tank that was being carefully hauled out of the intersection made for unusually high traffic. La Contessa had already told the Prefect to put every available officer out there looking for Dietz and his men, so no security officer escort was available, and traffic was moving slowly.

"Thanks to Your Countessness," Mander said as he popped the cigarette lighter out and handed it to Helen. "I live on an island. If I need to go to a city and get something, I've got a couple boats or a helicopter for options. Why is it that when I need to drive Your Countessness somewhere, THAT'S when I get stuck in traffic?"

Helen lit her cigarette and returned the lighter.

"You weren't the driver in Uongo, so we can't count that one. The first time was in Seattle and now we're here. Guess it's kind of my fault for only bringing you to countries where I sorta-kinda want the general public to like me."

"Speaking of whom, it seems unwise to go out into that general public with someone out gunnin' for ya on the loose."

Helen snort-laughed at that as she'd been inhaling and had to cough for a second before responding.

"Do you think I'd ever go ANYWHERE if 'someone's out to kill me' was enough reason to stay home? Even when I stay in the castle, I get fuckers with knives jumping me out of the tour group or assholes trying to kill Maria with a tank. Dietz can take a fuckin' number. My tracker's active and Ultimados have been shadowing us since we left the castle. He wants to play Hide & Seek, but he's in MY yard, and Simon Says we're playing Bloody Knuckles."

"Igazi kept guns on Her Princessness to get ya to play ball. Whyte kept his distance, had that helmet thing and the deaf mercs, and threatened yer mates. Dietz's figured out the 'make it personal' part. We don't know if he knows enough about you to worry about that Thing ya do but acting through others and makin' 'em take cyanide rather than talk to ya is an effective way around it."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Yeah, it is." Helen agreed with another drag out the window. "I keep hearing about what a pro he is, how careful and cunning he is. Ok, clearing the streets so he could shoot Eliot was a clever move. And if he wanted to make sure he had my attention, trying to harm Maria or the twins is the way to do it. Bur Scott signed the van out this morning. They spent a couple days canvassing Eliot's street, then taking them down when he came home. That was a caper; there was planning. It was expected to work. 'We know there's old tanks at the castle right now, so let's get a van, cut it up so we can hide bullets and shells, steal and arm one, and try to kill the princess?' That's not a plan; that's an idea that pops into your head while you're while making the REAL plan and maybe jot down in the margin and come back to later if the plan doesn't work out."

"Yeah. Silverman was a hit. From what you've said, doesn't seem like the sort who'd wind someone up enough to go spending Famous Nazi Hitman money. I can guess from the name that he was Jewish, and therefore, Dietz's favorite kind of victim. But 'because he was Jewish' ain't enough reason for a racist who wants to live to get paid after to hang about. Allaine's right there; the director was supposed to be a message to the one in charge. In this country, that's always 'Her Countessness.' The only reason not to get the fuck out of San Finzione right then is that the client insists on delivery confirmation."

Helen nodded agreement and thought as they pulled onto Eliot's street. Mander looked for someplace to park. Helen picked up her phone and called the Ministry of Science.

"That's why I like getting stuck in traffic with you, Mander. We have these little talks and you give me these little ideas."

* * *

Mander nodded at some bushes outside Eliot's building where he suspected Ultimados might be hiding. Helen did likewise toward a dark alley about which she thought the same thing. There were still Policia in squad cars across from Stavro and Alfonzo's homes as well. Two officers stood by the door to Eliot's apartment, awaiting them. They saluted as she approached.

"Contessa." The senior of the two spoke. "We have checked the premises; it is safe for you to enter."

She nodded and the other went to unlock the door. Mander bent down and whispered into Helen's ear.

"I see what Your Countessness means about takin' the sport out of things."

She nodded again. The younger cop held the door as Helen motioned for Mander to go first. He drew his gun.

"That won't be needed, sir." The young cop said. "There's no one up there. We checked."

Mander grumbled and entered. A few steps behind, La Contessa followed him up the stairs, into the darkness. They rounded a corner to the apartment door, which was left unlocked for La Contessa. Mander entered the room, looking around, removing his sunglasses so his eyes could adjust to the dark when Helen reached for the light switch and turned it on.

"Gah!" Mander gahed and put the sunglasses back on. "You turn on the bloody lights during somethin' like this?"

"This is what my life has come to. If I don't, they'll get worried and call for backup." Helen said as they started to look around the living room. She walked over to a couch with an end table next to it. A bunch of small toys, new and old, were on it. Her eyes lit on a wind-up E.T. figure. She picked it up and held it for Mander to see now that his eyes had adjusted.

"This HAS to have been his mother's; handed down. Probably worth something by now. And if I decide I want to keep it, they won't do a thing to stop me. They'll find my prints on the table and figure 'Well, La Contessa took a little something, she does that sometimes.' You were talking about how a racist who can't be racist must be in the Twilight Zone? Try being a criminal who can't steal because, one way or another, everything is already mine!" Helen looked over the toy a bit more before setting it back where she'd found it. She surveyed the room.

There was an open door off the living room to the bedroom. The living room opened up into a smaller dining area with a bathroom connected to it and a kitchen in the doorway beyond. The place was decorated much like Helen imagined a recent film college graduate who was probably living on his own for the first time would do so. Old movie posters, primarily Steven Spielberg films, were tacked to the walls. All of the furniture matched, which told Helen that Eliot had no experience in furniture shopping but had just landed his first big-time director's job, so he bought it all at once. The upholstery was some older-style print that she couldn't imagine why Eliot chose it until she reasoned that it was probably as close to his parents' furniture at home as he could get here.

The lingering scent in the air was that of heated pasta and tomato sauce. Helen went into the dining area, where the empty bowl of Eliot's last meal still sat on the table next to a desktop computer. He'd only been dead a little over a day; there hadn't been time for the little red pool of dried leftover sauce at the bottom of the bowl to turn bad or attract flies. A single neat round spaghetti you can eat with a spoon clung and dried to the side of the bowl. Glossy headshots of actors surrounded the bowl and the computer. Attached to them were vintage photos of people who looked like them. Helen picked up Gino Giovanni's headshot, removed the paperclip, and found photos of Vincenzo from ages 11 to 20.

Mander had checked the other rooms in case the cops hadn't done a good enough job and there was a Nazi he'd get to kill under the bed. When he returned from the kitchen, he walked over to Helen and looked over her shoulder.

"Looks just like the late Count." He said. "I know there's a thing you're supposed to say when you talk about him, but I don't get away from the island much lately."

"It's 'Forever does he reign in our hearts.'" Helen told him. "Eliot approached the casting the same way Spielberg did for 'Band of Brothers;' choosing actors based on their resemblances to the real men of the 506th. It looks like the last thing Eliot was doing was going over their headshots. Casting's done, we're in Production now." She wiggled the mouse to bring the still-powered computer to life. It came to a screen asking for a login.

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Helen looked around the room for something that might be a clue to Eliot's password. She looked at a poster for the film "Duel," next to one for "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade." Helen reasoned that there was a good chance that his password was something related to Steven Spielberg. She then reasoned that guessing someone's password in three tries was something that only happened in the movies and that there were far too many possibilities after "Spielberg" failed to get her in.

"Surprised the screen didn't fill up with 'ACCESS DENIED' in giant red letters." Mander commented.

"Another 'only in the movies' thing. Carlito and his people at the Ministry of Intelligence could get us in. Or Luc. It could tell us why he was going over headshots this far along in the process."

"He was a director." Mander thought. "Maybe he was prepping for his next picture, seeing who he wants for it ahead of time."

"Maybe. I'm sure he had some dream project; since I gave him the job, we didn't get to the 'Well, let's hear about the movie you've always wanted to make' part" Helen let the last trail off. "I'm sure I'd have asked eventually."

She shook her head and looked over at a poster for "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," then back to the pictures. Her next three words came out as an unintentional Richard Dreyfus impression.

"This... means something." She stood and walked to the doorway, yelling to the cops below.

"Hey!" Helen shouted in Italian. "Did you guys already come and take pictures of everything in here?"

"Si, Contessa." One of the officers responded. "The Prefect told us that you were coming."

"Good." She called back. "I'm taking the stuff off the table. Someone will be by later for the computer."

"The Prefect told us to anticipate you leaving with a few things, Contessa." The younger cop responded.

Helen heard the sound of the older cop elbowing the younger. She bit her lip to try not to laugh and gave Mander a "Ya see?" look. Mander was still in Burglary Mode, so tried his best not to laugh as well. He leaned against a chair as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling over.

"Ok." Helen hurriedly said, shutting the door at the top of the stairs. Once it was closed, she and Mander erupted into laughter.

"They DO know Your Countessness, don't they?" Mander got out, prolonging the laughing for another minute.

"Yes, they do," Helen answered once she finally stopped laughing herself. "And that kid's getting a raise." She went into the kitchen to look for a cardboard box. A bit later, she emerged with an empty box whose sides indicated that it once contained cans of Spaghetti-Os.

"I want to give these a closer look back at the office." She explained as she started gathering the papers together. "These and whatever Luc finds on that computer were the things Eliot studied and considered while he ate his last meal; probably the last thing on his mind before Dietz stepped out of the alley and pulled the trigger. It's either connected to his death or it isn't. Whichever it is, I still want to know it."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Whatever Gets You through the Night Pt. 13

"They saved Hitler's cock. And stuffed it in Mengele's sock.

They saved Hitler's cock. Now it wants to talk!

Now it's starting to get hard! I found it in my backyard!

Every night it kills a dog! And now it walks the night in fog."

-Angry Samoans, "They Saved Hitler's Cock"

Lady Maria Louisa Francesca de San Finzione woke to the sounds of vomiting and gunfire. She'd gone to sleep to escape what sounded like a woman being gang-bangd outside and woken to chaos beyond the walls of the shack, unable to get past iron bars to see what was happening.

Her head immediately snapped toward the two of David Igazi's soldiers who'd had their AK-47s trained on her since Great-Grandmama had woken Maria from deep sleep. It was something La Contessa had used her powers to instill in the girl: To fall unconscious if she was taken against her will and remain so until Helena woke her. A precaution against kidnapping. Anyone who took her would find a letter about how to contact Contessa Helena de San Finzione with their demands and anyone who found her in that state to call for their reward. La Contessa would absolutely use The Thing to insure which. Nothing could be gained from harming Maria in that state. And banging her would gain them nothing but more of La Contessa's wrath. The letter made this plain as well. In all four languages of San Finzione plus Money.

The last thing she remembered before screaming at the men beating Stavro to stop was a bag going over her head before falling into pleasant dreams, so the suggestion did its job. When La Cont... no, she was Great-Grandmama now... when Great-Grandmama woke her, Maria learned that her kidnapping had been to lure La Contessa to Uongo and Igazi's camp for reasons she didn't know, but involved La Contessa's rumored ability to control minds. Maria knew this to be more than rumor. They'd taken everything from her; she didn't have her watch or phone to know the time and if the guards knew any of the languages Maria spoke, they didn't respond to her attempts to talk.

Now, she could see through the doorway out of the shack that had been converted into a prison cell that it was dark. And she could hear growing commotion outside. Her guards seemed content to remain at their post with their guns trained on her, ready to pull the triggers on David Igazi's order.

She huffed with the frustration of a princess awaiting rescue, because that's what she was. The frustration turned to shock when, over the panic, confusion, and gunfire getting louder, she thought she'd heard Igazi's voice shout "KILL THE," followed by two shotgun blasts.

Like her great-grandfather during The War, the Royal Bloodline was entirely down to Maria to one day rebuild. The guards hadn't heard the call over the shotgun blasts, but the sound of running footsteps told her that she wasn't going to do it. Great-Grandmama could carry on the Royal Line, but the last blood heir to the throne was about to die a captive princess. Only the knowledge that these were likely her final moments prevented Maria from laughing out loud.

The door opened. The bald Englishman entered.

"Oi, wankers!" Maria heard in the voice of the bald Englishman who'd brought her food and asked how she was doing earlier. She tried to ask him questions, but all he'd said was that it wasn't a good time. He'd seemed like a nice man, despite his appearance. Was he going to be the one who executed her? She'd figured the two men with the assault rifles would have the honor.

The Englishman pointed his large revolver at one of the two men. His call caused them to turn away from Maria and look at him. That gave the Englishman the half-second he needed to put a .44-round through each of their heads. Her squeal of surprise rather than delight was muted by the gunfire.

"Sorry I didn't have time to warn ya to look away, Your Princessness." Nigel Mander said as he stepped over to the guards' bodies and fished for the key to Maria's cell.

"What is happening?" She asked Mander, though she didn't know his name yet, so he was still The Englishman to her.

"Well, it's like this, Princessness." Mander explained as he unlocked her cell. "I got lofty goals, me. The kind a kid from the East End ain't ever gonna get by puttin' on a suit and kissin' arse up the corporate ladder." He opened the door and let Maria out as he began searching the guards again for a phone. He'd HAD La Contessa's satellite phone until she used her power to convince him to give it back. He'd planned to find a way to slip the phone to her so she could call the cavalry before she did so. Now he needed a second one with which to call the first to plead for his life. "I knew how to do bad things, so that's the way I've gone about it."

Mander motioned for Maria to stay where she was as he hid in a shadow. He knew that if he was seen from outside, the soldiers invading the compound would shoot him in an instant. He continued as he found a phone in one of the corpses' pockets.

"And I've done plenty OF those bad things, but none of 'em ever involved hurting innocent girls until I signed on with these rotten tossers. I've wanted out for a while now." He patted the jacket pocket with the letter. "Her Countessness gave me some words to think on and I've decided to take that 'smart choice' she's offered. You probably ain't seen me passing cigarettes round all day. I noticed the holes, figured she had a plan; decided to help."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Maria looked out the door. Now that the Stealth part of her rescue was over, the Ultimados were in open combat with Igazi's remaining men outside.

"I can go out there." Maria told the Englishman. "I will tell them that you helped me."

"I'd greatly appreciate that gesture, Princessness." Mander said with a smile, producing the crumpled piece of stationary he'd been re-reading in secret every chance he got. He dialed the number. "If you'd just give me half a tick to talk to yer Gram and ask to not get shot, that'd be lovely."

"Hello?" Came La Contessa's voice on the other end, obviously only answering the call out of shock and reflex.

"Is this Contessa Helena de San Finzione?" Mander asked, motioning for Maria to step out first, as he could hear her voice from outside the shack at this distance.

"Yes." A stunned Helen replied.

Mander realized that she'd have heard the gunshots and might assume that Maria was already dead. He gestured to her that it was probably a safe moment to emerge.

"We've not been properly introduced. My name is Mander. I got your letter. I've always wanted an island."

After Maria was clearly visible in the moonlight, he tossed his gun and the phone out the door, then put his hands up and stepped forward.

* * *

Because Jerry Scott was demonstrably guilty of "Being Willing Party to Conspiracy to Commit a Direct Crime Against La Contessa Herself;" he and all co-conspirators had voluntarily declared themselves Enemies of San Finzione and forfeited all of her legal protections. His suicide and last words, combined with what they'd gathered to this point, amounted to a Confession of Guilt. No warrant would be needed for La Policia to blow the hinges off the front door of Jerry Scott's single-bedroom house and start going through his life. Having secured the perimeter, Prefect Martin LeGrasse had been awaiting Generalissimo Ramirez and D.I. Allaine's arrival to give the go order. The three of them stood behind his car for cover.

"Proceed with caution, Prefect." Luc suggested. He nodded confirmation. "Scott was willing to die to evade capture. That worst-case scenario aside, fanatics like him tend to be obsessed survivalists. Dreaming of a race war that will allow them to live out their Rambo fantasies and that their guns will somehow save them from drones, tanks, and helicopters. That everyone thinks they're fools drives their persecution complex and fuels the fantasy of 'the government is coming for my guns any second!' They believe themselves capable of winning that scenario; fantasized for years of the day They TRY to pry HIS guns from his cold, dead fingers! Lethal boobytraps are a very real concern."

LeGrasse confirmed his understanding and gave the Go order. Once SWAT entered, K-9 units followed to sniff for traps or bombs. The gathered neighbors outside the barricades jumped as one, then another, then a third shotgun blast blew off the hinges and the door fell open. SWAT cleared the living room; bomb squad on standby in case they were needed. Luc gave a cigarette to Ramirez since they had time. He offered one to LeGrasse, who politely refused.

"Where are your people, Luc?" Ramirez asked as they waited to be told it was safe to enter.

"The studio." Luc replied. "We found one plant; Dietz could have more. The time for subtlety is over. This is now a manhunt."

"Scott wasn't a plant, though. He already worked for the studio back in America."

"Oui, the wrong word to use. 'Inside Man,' then. Scott kept his beliefs suppressed, he probably sought out the company of fellow closet racists; people he can hang out with after work and freely discuss hating those who are different. Some of them may have relocated to San Finzione as well; and it's no fun keeping all your hate to yourself."

Ramirez nodded agreement as he took a drag. He moved in closer to the other two before commenting. LeGrasse stood and took in their words.

"Like before," Hernando said. "Too many people for La Contessa to screen each one. People like Scott wouldn't have gone through the same extreme vetting as executives and those likely to interact personally with her. Si, some poker buddies may have also slipped past the process."

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"Oui. Now, imagine you're Scott. A stranger in a strange land where your beliefs are a bubbling cauldron that you're forced to keep a lid on whenever you leave the house. So, you overhear a co-worker muttering something racist. You get a quiet moment with them and in your own subtly racist way, sympathize with their plight. Maybe you've got a tale of when one of 'them' thought they were as good as you just like what happened to that person. Now you've got someone you can TALK to about these things! You end up doing something after work. Playing poker like you suggest. Golf, fishing; something 'just you and the guys,' where the big guns can come out. So, you upgrade to blatant slurs and everyone laughs. Now you have found a tribe!"

"Oui." LeGrasse agreed. "From there, it's only a couple more beers to go from 'someone should DO something about them' to 'WE should do something about them.' One or two more from there to 'Enough talk! LET'S go do something about them!'"

Ramirez had told him before they met that this was how Luc thought. LeGrasse concluded.

"Only two outcomes from there: Go commit a hate crime or, preferably, keep talking about it and drinking until you're too drunk to do it."

"Oui." Luc agreed. "Reality hits, they remember that they're no longer in America and Sheriff Bubba will not be there to write it off as 'boys will be boys;' so, it is just drunk talk. Now, remember, you are still Jerry Scott in this example. Those little drunk talk almost-hate crimes are the only almost-outlet you have. In fact, it's probably you who convinces the others to stay here and continue drinking. Because if you're this enthused about it, it's probably a bad idea. The three of us already have some thoughts on what we'll find in there: Nazi memorabilia, swastikas, propaganda from white power groups. More than likely, a lot of guns. If he was a reader, the subjects will not be difficult to imagine; we won't find any Shakespeare. Now, imagine that out of the blue, Heinrich Dietz or someone representing him reaches out to you! He has some killing to do in San Finzione, and you've been reading his name online and in chat groups for so long that he's one of your Nazi heroes! And he's coming to YOUR city? You'll finally get to be party to a REAL hate crime; a murder, no less! So, the next time you're all drinking and playing poker, and the same old 'we should go beat up a minority whom we outnumber' conversation comes up ..."

LeGrasse got it.

"Now, not only are you living your fantasy, but you get to brag to 'the guys' that you're friends with a famous Nazi killer. They just TALK about wanting to kill Jews and you're DOING something about it! How do you NOT shoot your drunken mouth off to the guys? How do you NOT boast about how you know THE Heinrich Dietz? The Ministry of Science has Scott's phone. Once they crack it, there should be a few other names I'll be wanting to speak to."

Ramirez added a thought.

"How they found Adolf Eichmann." He answered. "His son bragged to his girlfriend about what a famous Nazi his father was. She told someone."

They watched as the dogs were brought in. The sounds of a struggle came over the radio and LeGrasse grabbed one and demanded to know what the fuck was happening. All three men drew guns and ran toward the sound of barking dogs inside.

* * *

La Policia found two boobytraps inside the house. Scott had put a spike trap on his bedroom door so that if it wasn't opened carefully, a board with many long nails hammered into it would drop down and hit whomever opened it in the face and upper body. One of the basement steps had also been replaced with balsa wood. If anyone put their weight on it, the stair would collapse and drop them onto bare rebar and shards of broken glass below. A rottweiler with a scar across its throat silently attacked a SWAT officer when they reached the basement. Animal Control took the dog and paramedics on the scene treated the officer's wounds and the situation was over before they made it from the Policia barricade into the house. They'd stopped and put their weapons away now that they weren't needed.

"The dog didn't bark before attacking." LeGrasse commented as they now stood on the porch. "The barking was all our own dogs."

"No. And he never will." Ramirez answered. "A heartless trick that I sadly encountered more than once on operations for El Squadra. Drug cartels, warlords, the particularly vicious and paranoid; they will sever the vocal cords of attack dogs so that they no longer bark and alert intruders. By the time someone hears the dogs coming, they're already upon that person and the screams do the job of alerting you."

"Sounds like the tactic of a Nazi." Was Luc's only response. LeGrasse shook his head and had none.

The three men entered the living room, finding it neat and tidy.

"I expected more of a mess." Ramirez remarked.

"Not this room." Luc replied. "This is where he'd receive any 'ordinary' guests. Where he did things that the neighbors might see."

"And 'what would the neighbors think' ALWAYS matters!" LeGrasse added.

"Oui. It's fortunate that he had no wife or children; their lives would have been hell. The hints at his character are subtle here. A copy of 'Triumph of the Will' in the DVD rack, appropriated Celtic/Viking runes. Bet he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference." He walked over to a rack of CDs and pulled one out to show the others. "Only the most well-known racist of American artists, as I expected. This." Luc picked up a copy of a publication called "14 88" with a space between the two numbers to make it clear that they were separate numbers rather than "1488." "The bedroom trap most likely functioned as a security blanket or night light while he slept. Still worth checking. However, the basement, I imagine, will be more revealing. He had a trap and a dog on it, he must have something down there."

"Fourteen. Eighty-eight." Ramirez muttered, listening but also studying the magazine's title.

"'14' refers to '14 Words.'" Luc explained. "A popular Nazi screed. H is the eighth letter of the alphabet, so '88' is Nazi code for HH: Heil Hitler. They cracked the Enigma code because Nazis so often ended their commniques with an HH."

"My money," LeGrasse added. "Is on the basement being a weapons cache. If he didn't bring his own guns from America, he'd have found a way to get some here. Not as easy as in America, but this is the country that armed the populace for war with surrendered Nazi guns. They're not illegal, we simply have well-reasoned restrictions. Thinking on your earlier comments about drunken poker buddies, Generalissimo, perhaps one of them stays late drinking after the others have gone. It's just the two of you drinking and hating, probably slurring out how you two could still go vandalize a synagogue, but being too drunk to do more than..." He slipped into a slurring drunk American accent. "Shaaay, you sheem cool. Wanna shee my gunsh in the bashement? Watch thoshe shteps." He dropped the tone. "And that's when you show him 'With this stuff, we could really teach them a lesson!' By then, you're too drunk to make it back up the stairs you've boobytrapped, so you spend the rest of the night playing with the guns and thinking 'Maybe someday.'"

They agreed. LeGrasse looked over at the television.

"Some violent video games over there."

"Which tells us nothing." Luc replied. "Though the media would have us believe so, it is a cherry-picked argument. Many people enjoy violent video games; I am one of them. And no real people whom I have ever shot were not shooting at me first. Our generation grew up on Bugs Bunny and the Road Runner, and I'm willing to bet that neither of you know someone who was killed by pre-meditated falling anvil either. The last 'Grand Theft Auto' game sold 90 million copies. If video games caused people to be violent, the whole planet should be dead now. Entertainment is always a convenient scapegoat because no one seriously defends it and it gives parents something to blame besides their own parenting. In the 1950s, it was comic books. In the 1960s-80s, music and cartoons made children turn bad rather than poor parenting. Now it is video games."

Luc shook his head.

"It is a distraction." He told the two men. "And it is working. The basement will be the real find, and that's where we should be going."

* * *

The rigged step down to Jerry Scott's basement was marked with crime scene tape. The three stepped over it and made their way down to the room lit by a single bare bulb.

Tool racks lined two of the walls with outlines of where tools were to be returned after use. A welding torch and acetylene tank stood in a corner, the mask hanging from it. A long workbench dominated a third. Bomb Squad technicians were going over Scott's unfinished projects on the bench to see if anything could be learned from what he'd been working on. A spiked dog collar on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with drying blood around it was attached to a chain that reached down a short hallway to a red door that had been opened by SWAT; who'd confirmed that the weapon stockpile was in that room.

It was the décor of that wall that caught their attention the most. The left side of the doorway bore the Nazi flag they'd all expected. Other decorations on both sides of that wall were reproductions of German propaganda posters from the same period. Several were portraits of Hitler painted into historical scenes common to those posters. One had his face peeking out of a suit of armor on a white horse with its front legs kicking up; a knight going into battle. Another showed him as a proud Viking warrior, complete with the horns that Vikings didn't wear until Wagner glued them onto some helmets.

The hall to the red door was lined with similar posters depicting the President of the United States also painted into famous patriotic American scenes. At the terminus of the chain, where it was bolted to the wall by the door, food and water dishes sat.

"One might think this is some kind of torture room." LeGrasse commented. "If Scott hadn't worked in maintenance. You were right about the basement being more telling, Luc."