17-04-2019, 02:09 PM
She'd at least been able to do The Thing to a few of the delegates that morning. Mostly convincing the ones who really were there to attend the various sub-conferences to go in with an open mind; but not too open, because all of the issues for discussion did have clear right and wrong sides, and she told them what they were. Helena recognized another face in the crowd and excused herself from the conversation. She walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
Supreme Comrade and President-for-Life Simon Kiburi, of The People's Democratic Republic of Uongo turned around and his eyes widened. He must have managed to avoid Rita yesterday. Helen hadn't had time to get a proper debriefing from Rita, so had to go in cold, not knowing for certain whom "she" had talked to or hadn't yesterday, and what the subject was. Helena greeted him with a warm smile, and put her hand up to his neck, forcing him to bend forward a little so she could whisper into his ear.
"Simon, dear. There's no way you give a fuck about any of the topics, so that means you're here for the Auction, too. You can't possibly afford Lot 15, so you want something else. Whatever it is, you're enough of a dumbfuck to try to use it on San Finzione's troops or the Uongoian people."
The dictator was about to open his mouth to bluster something. Helena put her finger to his lips, stopping him.
"The Leopardess of San Finzione has tolerated you until now, Simon, because she's always had you under her paw. But the warlord partners who were going to betray you are gone, and it's time to give the country back to the original owners. So now, she allows you to run. Because the Leopardess has better things to do today, and she knows she can always catch you. Whatever you think you have to say, this is not the time for it. This is the time to go home and start trying to figure out how many golden candlesticks you can stuff into a suitcase. It's four, by the way. It'll look like you can get one or two more in there; but gold's heavy stuff. Any more than four, and you'll destroy a perfectly good suitcase."
Kiburi turned and left the building. Helena didn't finish watching him leave the room, because she'd heard a grumbling moving through the crowd. An ocean of murmured profanities in a miasma of languages; all of which, she understood, washed over her. When she noticed that everyone in the throng who'd uttered them had been looking down, she took out her phone.
It was 10:13 AM, and there was no signal.
She gave a half-smile. Whyte seemed to be counting on her overestimating him, so a hit on the summit itself wasn't beyond the realm of possibility, but it would certainly be foolish in the extreme. In addition to her Ultimado detail, other attendees had their own security as well. A hit squad would be lucky to make it through the door. The building was being continuously swept for bombs after the explosions at her hotel yesterday, so he wouldn't strike that way. Helen considered for a moment that he might gas the convention hall, but wrote that one off. Despite what he wanted her to think, Whyte wasn't The Joker; his goons weren't about to rappel down from the skylights, firing machine guns, wearing costumes, and being named around a theme.
The murmur was rising now, as people even more unaccustomed to inconvenience than most began shouting at their phones for failing to give them a signal. Waving and holding their phones at arm's length and up in the air, trying to get a bar.
And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Most of the attendees were too happy to have their own phone service back to have noticed that it happened to almost everyone.
"Except the ones carrying Whyte Telecom phones." Helen thought. She looked at her phone to see if Whyte was about to call. The only message delayed by the lack of signal was one from Ramirez, which she replied to. She looked up to see someone with a video camera running toward her, security running behind.
Before the man got close enough to say anything, something hard had slammed him in the stomach, causing him to double over. Another impact to the back of his knees forced him to the ground. Finally, the first collapsible metal baton that had nailed him in the stomach was pressed down onto the back of his neck, forcing him to kiss the floor of the convention center.
Primo Tenente Marisol Velasquez of La Squadra de Ultimados knelt down onto the man's back, ready to send the next blow into his skull at the slightest provocation. Helena motioned for her to let the man up to breathe. Once she mentally appraised the man's outfit and camera, she realized what he was; a 'reporter' from some conspiracy site, who broke through the press line to ask her about being a witch, or a sex-assassin, or wanting a confirmation or denial that La Familia de San Finzione's wealth came from being bequeathed the lost treasures of the Templars, and that the Ark, the Holy Grail, and Excalibur were all in a secret vault, a mile beneath Castle Finzione.
Sometimes, the beatdown itself was what they wanted, to "prove" that she MUST be hiding something! Otherwise, why would she be so "afraid of the truth" as to sic her guards on the "intrepid reporter" for running up and getting in her face with "a simple question" one month after someone had just done the same thing and ended up stabbing her four times and trying to cut her throat? He still had one hand on his video camera, and pointed it up from the floor, trying to aim for her face from this angle.
Supreme Comrade and President-for-Life Simon Kiburi, of The People's Democratic Republic of Uongo turned around and his eyes widened. He must have managed to avoid Rita yesterday. Helen hadn't had time to get a proper debriefing from Rita, so had to go in cold, not knowing for certain whom "she" had talked to or hadn't yesterday, and what the subject was. Helena greeted him with a warm smile, and put her hand up to his neck, forcing him to bend forward a little so she could whisper into his ear.
"Simon, dear. There's no way you give a fuck about any of the topics, so that means you're here for the Auction, too. You can't possibly afford Lot 15, so you want something else. Whatever it is, you're enough of a dumbfuck to try to use it on San Finzione's troops or the Uongoian people."
The dictator was about to open his mouth to bluster something. Helena put her finger to his lips, stopping him.
"The Leopardess of San Finzione has tolerated you until now, Simon, because she's always had you under her paw. But the warlord partners who were going to betray you are gone, and it's time to give the country back to the original owners. So now, she allows you to run. Because the Leopardess has better things to do today, and she knows she can always catch you. Whatever you think you have to say, this is not the time for it. This is the time to go home and start trying to figure out how many golden candlesticks you can stuff into a suitcase. It's four, by the way. It'll look like you can get one or two more in there; but gold's heavy stuff. Any more than four, and you'll destroy a perfectly good suitcase."
Kiburi turned and left the building. Helena didn't finish watching him leave the room, because she'd heard a grumbling moving through the crowd. An ocean of murmured profanities in a miasma of languages; all of which, she understood, washed over her. When she noticed that everyone in the throng who'd uttered them had been looking down, she took out her phone.
It was 10:13 AM, and there was no signal.
She gave a half-smile. Whyte seemed to be counting on her overestimating him, so a hit on the summit itself wasn't beyond the realm of possibility, but it would certainly be foolish in the extreme. In addition to her Ultimado detail, other attendees had their own security as well. A hit squad would be lucky to make it through the door. The building was being continuously swept for bombs after the explosions at her hotel yesterday, so he wouldn't strike that way. Helen considered for a moment that he might gas the convention hall, but wrote that one off. Despite what he wanted her to think, Whyte wasn't The Joker; his goons weren't about to rappel down from the skylights, firing machine guns, wearing costumes, and being named around a theme.
The murmur was rising now, as people even more unaccustomed to inconvenience than most began shouting at their phones for failing to give them a signal. Waving and holding their phones at arm's length and up in the air, trying to get a bar.
And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Most of the attendees were too happy to have their own phone service back to have noticed that it happened to almost everyone.
"Except the ones carrying Whyte Telecom phones." Helen thought. She looked at her phone to see if Whyte was about to call. The only message delayed by the lack of signal was one from Ramirez, which she replied to. She looked up to see someone with a video camera running toward her, security running behind.
Before the man got close enough to say anything, something hard had slammed him in the stomach, causing him to double over. Another impact to the back of his knees forced him to the ground. Finally, the first collapsible metal baton that had nailed him in the stomach was pressed down onto the back of his neck, forcing him to kiss the floor of the convention center.
Primo Tenente Marisol Velasquez of La Squadra de Ultimados knelt down onto the man's back, ready to send the next blow into his skull at the slightest provocation. Helena motioned for her to let the man up to breathe. Once she mentally appraised the man's outfit and camera, she realized what he was; a 'reporter' from some conspiracy site, who broke through the press line to ask her about being a witch, or a sex-assassin, or wanting a confirmation or denial that La Familia de San Finzione's wealth came from being bequeathed the lost treasures of the Templars, and that the Ark, the Holy Grail, and Excalibur were all in a secret vault, a mile beneath Castle Finzione.
Sometimes, the beatdown itself was what they wanted, to "prove" that she MUST be hiding something! Otherwise, why would she be so "afraid of the truth" as to sic her guards on the "intrepid reporter" for running up and getting in her face with "a simple question" one month after someone had just done the same thing and ended up stabbing her four times and trying to cut her throat? He still had one hand on his video camera, and pointed it up from the floor, trying to aim for her face from this angle.
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