22-04-2019, 03:00 PM
"Giuseppe is good at following instructions and relaying information, Oui." Luc answered. "Heinrich Dietz is important, though. And possibly too big for him. Many of Dietz's victims were fighting for rights for people like myself, so I cannot deny my own interest. Catching him would balance enough books to be worth any personal risk; Sam will just have to understand this. Dietz is a racist killer who loves his job; this does not mean he works for free. Someone hired him, we'll need them as well. On top of it all, the victim is American. There is no way the State Department will let us get away with keeping them out of it. They will send some Dirty Harry cowboy who has seen too many movies to shoot holes in your country and wreck automobiles until someone confesses simply to spare any further innocent loss of life. He will bulldoze right through Giuseppe. You are going to need me to handle him. You are getting your wish at last, old friend. I am coming to San Finzione."
The Generalissimo took in how important this was to his old friend as he re-lit the cigarette that had burned out, then spoke.
"Violeta will not hear of any hotel nonsense. Let us know what time you will arrive. One of us will pick you up. Or I'll send a car."
They said goodbye, then Luc hung up and went to go have an argument and Ramirez called to ask his wife to prepare the guest room. Most likely, for one.
* * *
Contessa Helena de San Finzione entered her study, her office in the Palace Wing of the castle, and turned on the television. While her computer booted, she checked her phone. Ramirez had called and told her that Luc was coming to San Finzione while relaying his other information. She offered him a guest room in the Palace Wing or to put him up in the best suite; La Contessa's, in one of the many hotels that she owned. The Generalissimo replied that for all of Violeta's jokes about the man, Luc was her friend as well and she wouldn't allow him to stay anywhere but their home. Helen knew the Generalissimo's wife and liked her, so that closed the matter all around.
Once her computer loaded, she looked up Heinrich Dietz while bringing up the local news on the television. The local newscaster was parroting back the cover story she'd given the Prefect; that a young American, in San Finzione on business, was killed in a mugging gone wrong and that La Policia were taking every possible action to catch the murderer.
She switched to CNN to see if the American news had anything to say yet; thankful that, being the weekend, she wouldn't have to get her information from Sally & Cara. She calculated the time difference to Washington D.C., it was 9 AM Sunday there. The President wouldn't be up for another three hours, at least. It was too early for him to make an official statement to Twitter, but given Vincenzo's banning him and his "businesses" from San Finzione decades earlier, and her own encounters with the President, come Monday 3 AM, he'd have something to tweet about it. So far, American news had nothing on the incident. Helen considered that Eliot might not be "important" enough to warrant a news mention until things get political.
Helen tabbed between her email and reading what Google could give her on Dietz. The Ministry of Intelligence was putting together a dossier on him to send her, but she decided to see what the internet knew about him while waiting. She read about some of the higher-profile murders he'd committed or been connected to. Helen couldn't imagine a racist choosing to hole up in Little Uongo, but she'd overestimated her enemies in the past and sent a couple officers to look around anyway.
A killer on the loose in San Finzione meant that Helen's mind couldn't help going back to Frank Morgan, the man who'd stabbed her a year and a half ago. Morgan had been a professional hit man twenty years previously who'd gotten out of the business young and successful enough to retire and start a family under an assumed name. A terminal brain tumor had cost him his nest egg and his hearing and made Morgan desperate enough to accept an offer to make a suicide run at her. Helen unconsciously reached up and touched the tiny scar on the left side of her throat; the only external scar left from the attack that had been too close to vital arteries to risk removing entirely.
Morgan was well past his prime; weak and in the final stages of his illness, and he still overpowered her. She looked at the photo of Dietz on her screen, an Aryan poster boy about her own age. She was debating whether to take her traveling purse, a black Prada Arcade bag containing 25000 euros, her diplomatic credentials, a selection of black and platinum credit cards, and a Ruger LC9 with two extra magazines; out of the safe to check the gun when a loud knock came at the door to the study.
The Generalissimo took in how important this was to his old friend as he re-lit the cigarette that had burned out, then spoke.
"Violeta will not hear of any hotel nonsense. Let us know what time you will arrive. One of us will pick you up. Or I'll send a car."
They said goodbye, then Luc hung up and went to go have an argument and Ramirez called to ask his wife to prepare the guest room. Most likely, for one.
* * *
Contessa Helena de San Finzione entered her study, her office in the Palace Wing of the castle, and turned on the television. While her computer booted, she checked her phone. Ramirez had called and told her that Luc was coming to San Finzione while relaying his other information. She offered him a guest room in the Palace Wing or to put him up in the best suite; La Contessa's, in one of the many hotels that she owned. The Generalissimo replied that for all of Violeta's jokes about the man, Luc was her friend as well and she wouldn't allow him to stay anywhere but their home. Helen knew the Generalissimo's wife and liked her, so that closed the matter all around.
Once her computer loaded, she looked up Heinrich Dietz while bringing up the local news on the television. The local newscaster was parroting back the cover story she'd given the Prefect; that a young American, in San Finzione on business, was killed in a mugging gone wrong and that La Policia were taking every possible action to catch the murderer.
She switched to CNN to see if the American news had anything to say yet; thankful that, being the weekend, she wouldn't have to get her information from Sally & Cara. She calculated the time difference to Washington D.C., it was 9 AM Sunday there. The President wouldn't be up for another three hours, at least. It was too early for him to make an official statement to Twitter, but given Vincenzo's banning him and his "businesses" from San Finzione decades earlier, and her own encounters with the President, come Monday 3 AM, he'd have something to tweet about it. So far, American news had nothing on the incident. Helen considered that Eliot might not be "important" enough to warrant a news mention until things get political.
Helen tabbed between her email and reading what Google could give her on Dietz. The Ministry of Intelligence was putting together a dossier on him to send her, but she decided to see what the internet knew about him while waiting. She read about some of the higher-profile murders he'd committed or been connected to. Helen couldn't imagine a racist choosing to hole up in Little Uongo, but she'd overestimated her enemies in the past and sent a couple officers to look around anyway.
A killer on the loose in San Finzione meant that Helen's mind couldn't help going back to Frank Morgan, the man who'd stabbed her a year and a half ago. Morgan had been a professional hit man twenty years previously who'd gotten out of the business young and successful enough to retire and start a family under an assumed name. A terminal brain tumor had cost him his nest egg and his hearing and made Morgan desperate enough to accept an offer to make a suicide run at her. Helen unconsciously reached up and touched the tiny scar on the left side of her throat; the only external scar left from the attack that had been too close to vital arteries to risk removing entirely.
Morgan was well past his prime; weak and in the final stages of his illness, and he still overpowered her. She looked at the photo of Dietz on her screen, an Aryan poster boy about her own age. She was debating whether to take her traveling purse, a black Prada Arcade bag containing 25000 euros, her diplomatic credentials, a selection of black and platinum credit cards, and a Ruger LC9 with two extra magazines; out of the safe to check the gun when a loud knock came at the door to the study.
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