 
### Zarulium Chronicles

### Book I

### Destination Nazca

### By Christopher A Forrest

### With Alice Bennett

### Cover Art and Design by Christopher Forrest and Katerina Forrest

### Published by Christopher A Forrest at Smashwords

### Copyright 2014 Christopher A Forrest

### http://www.zchronicles.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners

### Anton's Video Diary 1

October

"This is Dr. Anton Vladimir Yakushev here . . . uh . . . I apologize in advance, I am not used to working with video equipment . . . In fact, this is my first time . . . In fact, I feel a bit nervous in front of the camera . . . ha-ha . . . . Okay, I am about to attempt an historic event here in my lab in Aurica. Aurica is in Ontario . . . Earth . . . uh . . . Anyways . . . I have been designing and building an apparatus that will allow objects to travel between current time and points in the past or future. I have built a time machine, if you will.

"Yesterday, I completed the first ever, successful time travel event, and now it is my plan today to record a second event for posterity.

"Today, you can see that machine behind me . . . Inside its transport chamber you will see a rock . . . or more precisely a stone . . . and it is my intention that this stone and a wristwatch, will make the first time travel journey. For purposes of practicality and viewer comprehension, the journey will be a short one into the future.

"In order to prove the device's veracity, I will begin by setting time-keeping devices in two places. Firstly, I will place a regular three-handed wristwatch into the travel chamber. If the experiment works, then this watch will disappear with the stone. I will synchronize my wristwatch to the same time as that of the travelling watch. In order to be successful, the watch and stone should reappear after one minute, yet the travelling watch will show the same time as it did when it disappeared – while all other time-keeping devices will have advanced by one minute of real time . . .

"Now you see . . . I am synchronizing at 2:01 pm. I have a third clock on the wall also synchronized to this same time. In addition, you can see the video has a timer at the bottom that will record the passing of one minute . . . . I will begin at precisely 2:02 in a few seconds from now . . . All right, I will begin counting down . . . now! Five, four, three, two, one . . . shit! Oh, excuse me . . . uh; it would appear I just fried the cooling fan . . . . It had been acting up . . . uh, abort test for today . . . Dammit!"

### Chapter 1: Natalia – Cape Canaveral, Florida – October

The clock radio clicked on, _". . . weather today in South Florida, sun then clouds, with a high of . . ."_

She hit the snooze button for the third time, refused even to peek at the clock, and rolled over, but moments later, she heard it. Its brakes squeaked and Natalia could easily guess at the exact time. It must be 8 AM if the tour bus had just laboured to a stop outside, a short ways from her window. Slowly, she slid one leg off the bed. Wincing at the mild back pain this manoeuvre caused her, Natalia decided that such an annoying position should have its own Chinese martial art exercise name.

With a falsely reverent tone, she mystically uttered, "Bed-laying soccer kick position – good for limbering spine and preparing legs for another day of . . . ass kicking."

Unimpressed by her sarcastic wit, she turned towards the window and sat up, barely able to stare out at the disembarking tour bus.

Seeing the tourists exhibiting various sorts of behaviour was typical. Spotting a woman who was chastising her floppy straw hat for falling off, Natalia observantly mumbled, "Pissed off."

Seeing a chunky, sweaty guy stumble off, she continued, "Pissed drunk."

Seeing an elderly person making for the outdoor washroom, she concluded, "Gotta piss."

At last, she turned to face the first of her school day nemeses – the alarm clock radio. It would soon kick in for a fourth time and she knew too well what a fourth time would mean – shouting. It was not as if Natalia couldn't handle shouting at this time of day; she just didn't need to add extra challenges to her day. School was bad enough. School pissed Natalia off.

Seeking to buy time, she looked in the mirror hoping that the bed had magically preserved her pre-bed hair from last night: triple wrong. Firstly, the left side looked like the result of shock treatment. Secondly, the right side looked like the tour bus had just run over it. Finally, the top looked like it had maliciously self-knotted itself in a sadomasochistic reverie.

Defeated by bed head in a one-round knockout, Natalia relegated herself to the bathroom for a shower. While the cooling water enlivened her, she untangled her curly blonde locks. She thought of the tourists alighting and decided they were all worse off than she was. After all, tourists _paid_ to have a crappy bus tour – Natalia paid _nothing_ for her crappy school experience.

She knew that this was a rather negative way to spend her time, but then, she did find it amusing. It pleased her in a way few things could at present. If they were all worse off than she was, well then she was not in last place in the life race! This feeling of still being in the race gave her hope.

Returned to her room to dress, Natalia saw a bitchin' fast car pull up behind the frumpy looking bus. She knew her sports cars from watching racing on TV. She liked racing because the drivers put their lives on the line every time they raced. She respected that they had to be half-crazy to do that, but by definition then, they might at least be half-sane.

She saw the car was vivid orange. She recognized it as a Porsche.

Sighing, she quietly complained, "A $200,000, Porsche 911 GT3 – painted pumpkin orange. It's a sign of the Apocalypse."

Blissfully unaware of what an apocalypse truly was, nevertheless, Natalia was sure it was something shitty.

"You're early for Halloween, buddy," she declared as she pulled her Jacksonville Jaguar jersey over her head, and then began primping her hair with stiffened fingers.

Completing her fashion-defiant clothing ensemble, Natalia donned a pair of mid-thigh bicycle shorts, short socks, and runners, and imagined painting that Porsche a proper race colour like red or black, and then mimed 'loser' into the mirror like her favourite Florida pet detective once did.

She was about to chastise herself for thinking inappropriate thoughts about others but decided to forgive herself. Then, however, Natalia heard her mothers' scolding tongue and it served as her punishment.

Susan had pushed open Natalia's door, and shouted, "Natalia; hurry up! You should have learned by now how to manage your time! You'll be late again and I have no time to drive you!"

Seeing that her mother was half-dressed, sparked the thought _'look who's talking'_ in Natalia's mind. It amused Natalia to hear her 37-year-old mother scold her almost 13 year-old daughter about the child student not having learned about time management when the parent instructor had obviously run out of sufficient quantities of time herself.

Turning one last time to look out the window in case she laughed, Natalia instead rolled her eyes, and loudly replied "Coming mother!" Then she thought _'how times have changed'_. Natalia could not recall when she last had respect for the words coming out of her mother's mouth, but was certain it was over a year ago. Natalia was a child of 11 or 12 then. She would be a teenager soon and felt so much closer to adulthood.

She heard that when children are young they hear the word 'no' frequently and many times more commonly than the word 'yes'. Natalia had reasoned over the last year that her mother simply substituted 'Natalia' for 'no'. That is, it seemed that her mother saw Natalia as the biggest negative in her life. Natalia, on the other hand, thought of her mother as the biggest asshole in hers.

Out in the hallway, presumably for imperative effect, her mother shrieked this time, "Natalia!"

_Biggest nagging bitch, too,_ Natalia thought. _You have to live with the adult you have – not the one you wish you had!_

Hearing her mother shriek her name like that again caused Natalia to think on its meaning. She recalled her father once explained that her name originally evolved from the Portuguese word for Christmas ' _Natal._ ' Her father, Anton, was Ukrainian and he named her for the Ukrainian Christmas Day: January 7th. By now, Natalia was used to explaining her 'more-unusual-than-abnormal' birthday to people.

She was one of those tiny percentages of people on Earth who could identify the jolly season with that of their own births. The only advantage Natalia ever recognized in relation to her birth date, however, was that she could easily tell people how many Christmases she had experienced so far: very few had been jolly.

Her mother shrieked once more, snapping Natalia out of her seasonal review, and so the almost teen headed to the kitchen. Once there, she looked in the pantry. She found a package of pop-tarts. She found this curious because she was a healthy food advocate and, despite their many differences, her mother would not purchase such an unhealthy item.

Then Natalia saw the package they had arrived in, and realized that the tarts must have arrived in the mail via a promotion. Perhaps the American public's love affair with pop-tarts was over and so the cereal company needed to remind it of its past bad habits. Her mother had allowed these pop-tarts into the house and so if Natalia ate them and experienced a potentially undesirable reaction, then it would be Susan's fault. _My mother caused my murderous spree, your honour!_

Natalia heated the tarts in the toaster and after they lived up to their name and ejected themselves, she began eating them. They were sickly sweet with their strawberry frosting and gummy consistency. After consuming one and a half, Natalia felt the tarts already besieging her stomach.

Reasoning she'd likely accomplished her mission, Natalia suddenly wondered about the impending future scholastic repercussions. Specifically, she thought about her strict math class teacher. She secretly called him 'Mr. Camel' because he wouldn't let students go to the can during his class. His class was an hour from now. _What if I have to use the can during his class?_

Rationalizing that it would have a diluting effect, Natalia quickly drank down a glass of water. Feeling that satisfaction was fleeting, Natalia repeated the process, reasoning that doing so would further insure against her entering into a diabetic coma during the middle of class.

In the washroom to brush her teeth, Natalia removed some lint form her favourite Jacksonville Jaguars football jersey. She thought football was a hamburger sport for idiots, but she loved the colour of the jerseys. This one was as teal as the ocean on slightly overcast days. She also liked the shiny nylon material because if she were approaching others from a certain direction on a sunny day the rays would reflect off the jersey and blind viewers temporarily.

She felt that blinding people in this way alerted them that somebody with an attitude was approaching. She didn't look for confrontations, but had given into the idea that they just seemed to find her. To Natalia then, her blinded by the light action, served as a fair warning system. _Blink if you dare!_

When Natalia returned to the kitchen to see about a lunch, she noticed her mother was on the phone speaking in low tones. Before her mom ended the call she clarified her identity to the caller, explaining, "No – not Yakushev – that was my ex's name. I am Susan Bedford again." Natalia had heard her mother's maiden name repeatedly lately. It raised her _pissed off-edness_ to a new high level.

After Susan ended the call, she moved unnaturally towards her bedroom as if either not wanting Natalia to see her face or as if ignoring her. To Natalia, choosing which of the two it was, resembled choosing between having either a top tooth out, or a bottom one: both choices were undesirable, and so Natalia decided to stir the shit up because of her pissed off-edness.

Saucily, Natalia declared, "Susan Yakushev used to _look_ at me once in a while – but I notice lately that Susan Bedford has no time for that!"

Defensively, Susan shot back a question, "What are you talking about?"

Natalia declined to add to her comment because her mother had not defended herself adequately enough for Natalia to feel more was necessary. She waited instead with a glowering glance ready to pounce again.

Eventually, with an oddly sanctimonious tone in her voice, Susan continued, "I beg your pardon Natalia Irina Yakushev?"

This served only to inflame Natalia's dormant wrath. She sassily responded, "It seems ironic to me, mother, that you should state my full name so proudly."

Haughtily, Susan replied, "Why shouldn't I speak my daughter's name aloud in front of her? You are Natalia Yakushev."

Defiantly, Natalia retorted, "Oh, I know who _I_ am – it's _you_ who has the identity problem, lady!"

Angrily, Susan hollered, "How dare you!"

Deciding sarcasm was in order, Natalia asked, "What? You want me to call you 'woman' instead of 'lady'?"

"Don't be smart with me, Natalia. I am your mother!"

Natalia glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that she needed to expedite this discussion process before her mother's recently shaved leg hairs grew back, and so she angrily responded, "You make my name sound like something I should be proud of, but there you are introducing yourself to others as Susan Bedford!"

Defensive again, Susan announced, "Well, I am an adult and I can make that sort of choice for myself – it is an entirely personal thing Natalia!"

At last sticking her verbal knife in deep, Natalia caustically concluded, "Oh yeah? Well, I think you changed your name back because I embarrass you at least as much as you obviously hate my father!"

Susan gasped rather audibly and Natalia noticed her forming her hand in the shape of a face slap. Natalia lowered her eyes to the hand in acknowledgement; returned a withering stare at her mother; and then very softly stated, "If you try that, expect retaliation."

Susan began to cry prolifically and moved to hug Natalia. For her part, Natalia was used to this sort of breakdown that marked the end of the infrequent communication sessions she had with her mother lately, but instead of caving in to the physical apology of her offered hug, Natalia avoided it this time.

Instead, she impulsively scoffed down the remainder of her attitude-enhancing breakfast making sure Susan saw her do it; pointedly scoffed at her mother to pre-empt any further admonishments from her about life or poor food choices; and would have resoundingly scoffed at the rest of the world too, but she was running late.

Before leaving, Natalia shrugged to the mirror, as her hair was a shambles; shamelessly shimmied down the stairs; and shuffled off shining in the morning sun. She made up for lost time by running the whole way to school, offering no shed tears because she didn't give a shit.

### Chapter 2: Alejandro – Peruvian mountains – October

Since he had a few minutes to wait anyways, Alejandro decided to work on his English. Ever since his guardians had allowed him access to television two years ago on his 11th birthday, Alejandro had grown keener to learn this language, because, as they had explained to him, 'it is the language of technology'.

Alejandro respected that technology was important – it was certainly bound to be the key to helping him, for example – but Alejandro had discovered that English was a language of entertainment! At least, Alejandro reasoned it must be because most of the programs he watched in English were interesting to him – those in his native Spanish, less so.

He was learning other languages like French, and Mandarin, but didn't find too much of either available on television to assist him. Mandarin had the added problem of being a language in which inflection was very important. He found it hard to modulate his voice at the same time as having to remember what he was saying.

His guardian, Eva, had recently encouraged him to take up an Indian dialect, but neither he nor she could decide on one – there were so many. Eva had promised to research for a dialect that had the highest percentage of commonality. She said she would use the large computer she and Paul had access to at their laboratory to help her.

Due to his condition, Alejandro had never been inside their lab – never even been close – but he had a shrewd idea that this might soon change. Either that or he had been watching too many spy movies!

Anticipating Eva's arrival, Alejandro waited outside his dwelling positioned where he would see her coming. It was a cool morning, but then Alejandro had only ever known cool mornings due to living a few thousand feet above sea level. His other guardian, Paul, had taught him about Geography and that they lived in the Andean foothills near a place called Nazca.

While Alejandro enjoyed all of the subjects that his guardians taught him, science was his favourite, and Eva taught him that. He thought she was a great teacher because she was always kind and took the time to explain things. Alejandro thought that Paul was a good teacher too, but sometimes he seemed to have other things on his mind – _probably my special condition_.

Alejandro remained outside waiting for his programmable wristband to alert him that 9AM had arrived, and when it did, he stood up and walked towards where Eva always approached from, saw her doing so, and then ran out to greet her.

"Good morning, Alejandro," she said politely in Spanish, and then smiled.

"Good morning to you too, Eva," replied Alejandro in kind. Then he inquired, "How was your evening shift at work?"

"Uneventful, I'm afraid," she said, with a hint of tiredness.

Alejandro felt confident his guardians always did their best at work, and had heard this sort of response from both of them many times, and for as long as he could remember. Normally a little more curious than he was this morning, Alejandro reported, "I need to work on my science project – Paul said I needed to inform you before I leave. Most of the work is field work."

"Good, Alejandro," she began. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for education."

Fully aware of his clandestine plan, Alejandro lied, "There is an animal involved in the study that is only active in the mornings, and I need photographic material for the project."

While he did need the evidence, it was hardly critical that he conduct the activity in the morning.

Eva responded, "In that case, you have permission to conduct an outdoor field trip." Then she asked, "How long do you anticipate your work to require?"

"About an hour – less if I am fortunate."

Eva replied, "Very well, have you eaten your morning nutrients?"

"Yes," he replied, truthfully.

Reminding him that Paul would be at work by the time Alejandro had likely returned, Eva inquired, "Did you say goodbye to Paul for the day?"

Alejandro had done this, and answered, "Yes, I did."

Satisfied that he had followed routine, Eva smiled and concluded, "Very well, I will expect your return in one hour."

Alejandro did not need to feign his merriment as he began to skip, and then run, off. His digital camera snuggled up in its case and swinging from his neck as he went, Alejandro heard Eva shout one last piece of information, "Should you return very early, you might find Paul and I are conversing in our private chambers – and don't run so quickly – it is dangerous . . ."

He slowed to a stop as her voice faded out, and then he murmured what he was certain were her last words, "out there." Then he smiled a satisfied smile. He could not remember a feeling of such satisfaction that did not include the birthdays he could remember.

Eva and Paul had shown Alejandro a book called _The Holy Bible_ and encouraged him to read from it regularly; thus, Alejandro had a sense of wrong and right beyond what his guardians had taught him. He only thought about it right now because he had just done something that the book explained was wrong: he lied.

What troubled Alejandro a lot was that he had conflicted feelings about it. _How could something so incredibly easy to do be so wrong?_ He had just deceived his assuredly highly intelligent guardians and they had smiled at him in the usual way.

As he began removing the camera from its case, he attempted to answer his question. First, he pretended he had just met a stranger. This was easy to do because it was a constant fantasy of his. _Everyone is a stranger except my guardians._ He had seen a show that a television announcer had warned about beforehand, saying, _'this show is not recommended for children under 12 – parental guidance suggested.'_

Just as he completed that thought, he remembered that he had forgotten after that show ended to look up the dictionary definition of 'parental'. _What is the difference between a parent and a guardian?_ Returning to the imagined stranger, Alejandro recalled that during the show he had watched, one of the characters had pretended to be wealthy when he was in fact poor. The character had pretended so that he might impress a pretty, rich girl. Eventually, when the truth emerged, the girl accused the boy of 'lying'.

Suddenly, he remembered her complaint, _'but I trusted you'._ That was the important part – without the invested trust, the girl would not have believed the boy to begin with, or would have investigated his claim.

Confident that his digital camera was in working order, Alejandro concluded that lying was not a practice to cultivate in future, because doing it would most likely end up in the sort of regret the boy – the stranger – experienced.

Then he started at the other end, and imagined trusting a stranger at the outset – the way the girl in the show had done. Alejandro quickly realized he had a very strong feeling about how he would feel in her position: he would be angry.

Knowing that if his deception were to be successful then he needed to hide, Alejandro began to move into position. He noted that his original skip, which had turned to a run, had since become an uncertain meander. Trying to shake off a feeling he was unfamiliar with, Alejandro wondered if it concerned what trust was about: the stronger it is between two people, then the easier it is for one to break.

Checking his wristband, Alejandro realized it was time to hide. He moved to position himself about 250 yards away from his home down an ancient glacial break. He would be hidden but capable of hearing footsteps. Perhaps most importantly, he had pre-measured Pol's gait size; thus, he even had a good idea of when his guardian would pass by – he became excited.

Alejandro knew he needed to count precisely to 27 after Paul passed by, in order for the surveillance plan to succeed. A few quiet minutes passed during which Alejandro struggled to maintain his excitement. Surveillance was not as fun as he had hoped it would be, and he resolved that next time he would bring a book.

Finally, Alejandro heard the light crunch of footsteps, and prepared for his game to start. He counted footsteps once he no longer heard Pol, and then began his 27-second countdown. Once that ended, Alejandro emerged from his hiding place, and began to follow Pol from a safe distance.

Incapable of maintaining their distance gap because of Pol's much greater height, Alejandro had factored in occasional running as a method of closing distance between the two. About a minute passed, and then Alejandro detected that the mountain's natural corner was about a hundred yards ahead.

When Paul turned the corner, Alejandro ran quickly to close the distance, but then walked the final 30 yards stealthily. Before he peeked around the corner, he activated the bypass of the wristband's signal. As a test, he neared the perimeter awaiting the warning beep. He did not hear a beep and so he ventured forth.

As memories of a previous painful shock filled his mind, he hesitated wondering if he had the courage to continue. Into his mind popped the memory of how this plan all started. It had begun with Alejandro watching television past his curfew.

At first, he had watched late-night musical performances. When they could fulfil his craving no longer, he progressed to cartoons that only aired in the evenings. Once he found this forbidden fruit's flavour unfavourable, Alejandro discovered the ultimate televised feast: spy movies!

Spy movie characters faked their identities and solved problems with subterfuge. Eventually, watching subversive activities inspired Alejandro to learn how to bypass his wristband's electronic signal. _I need to bypass_ _for long enough to pass the perimeter without receiving a shock_. He had also learned how to adjust the wristband so that it would not alert anyone monitoring the system.

Drawing a deep enough breath to raise his shoulders, Alejandro spotted Paul shrinking from sight in the distance and another memory flashed before his eyes. Months ago, while tracking a bird he had previously not identified, he had suddenly found himself on a narrow natural path. Although he sensed the location was dangerous, the excitement of discovering a new creature overcame his fear.

As he had neared the bird, he raised his electronic camera and snapped a shot just as it took to flight. Contented with his success, Alejandro then had focused on where he was. The narrow path had led him onto a natural ledge about 3 X 4 feet around – its edge was a foot away and beyond it – well, it dropped!

Gingerly, he had inched back until he could lay flat on his front to peek over the edge. In doing this, he had discovered a drop of hundreds of feet! Carefully retracing his steps after that, Alejandro became concerned that his wristband had alerted him that he had passed the perimeter boundary.

However, his subsequent check of the wristband revealed it worked fine – Alejandro had discovered an unmonitored zone. He had found freedom! Well, he had found a 3 X 4 foot space to . . . not want to venture to again unless he wanted to risk death!

With Paul's head dropping from view, Alejandro recalled his tiny 3 X 4 rocky ledge and compared it to the sight in front of him. Alejandro could see a space before him that was a thousand times bigger than his ledge of freedom.

If his attempt at bypassing failed, he would receive a painful shock. Girding his courage, Alejandro bolted across the perimeter!

Nothing happened.

This time his freedom was . . . huge!

Paul was no longer in sight, however, and so Alejandro had to calm down and remember the first rule of pedestrian surveillance: the pursuer must remain inconspicuous without losing sight of the target. Alejandro began a light trot.

Fortunately, Paul reappeared moments later and for several minutes, Alejandro maintained a healthy distance between them. It was heart-thumping action at first, and then Alejandro discovered that this part of the foothills pretty much resembled what he'd previously experienced.

Trying to deny boredom had set in; Alejandro had almost given up pursuit. Suddenly, he saw Paul stop, so Alejandro stopped. He saw Paul turning left, so Alejandro ducked down! However, Paul didn't turn more than 45 degrees, and appeared to be standing in front of a rock facing. _Strange._

His mouth dropping in awe, Alejandro watched as the rock face opened; Paul vanished into it; and then the rock face closed quickly behind him. Alejandro stood in his spot amazed. Suddenly, the chase was on again!

He ran to the rock face to examine it. After a minute of scrutiny, he decided that whoever created the opening was a master of deception because Alejandro found no trace of an entrance.

Suddenly, he remembered that in spy films, the spied upon often had surveillance equipment of their own designed to alert them of pursuers. He felt afraid and immediately began to run home.

He was afraid of detection because it could lead to confrontation. If Paul later confronted him about this, Alejandro feared his guardians might never trust him again. They might also strip him of privileges.

Fortunately, having spent his entire life at this height, Alejandro was comfortable running almost the entire way home. He stopped running about 100 yards from his dwelling. He remembered that he did have some homework to do and so he proceeded to do it. He still had plenty of time before his hour ended.

Paul and Eva certainly had a strange way of entering their laboratory. It reminded Alejandro of the cartoon character Batman and his cave. Batman used his cave as a research centre and kept it secret because he did not want people to know whom he really was and what he did there.

Alejandro decided this was a silly comparison because he was sure his guardians were just dedicated medical researchers trying to find a cure for his disease. Alejandro pulled out his camera and snapped a few shots of some bird eggs for his assignment.

### Anton's Video Diary 2

Halloween afternoon

" _Uh, hello again . . . This is Dr. Anton Yakushev. Today I will continue with my progress in documenting another successful time travel event. That is, I should say, I have moved beyond transporting an inanimate stone. That is, yesterday, I transported a full bottle of diet soda in my stationary machine. Today, I will duplicate that success._

"Once again, I have synchronized all time-keeping devices, and once again, I will be transporting the full soda bottle and a wristwatch through time – as per last time. That is, I am hopeful that it will work this time – I have corrected the faulty cooling system that caused the last abortion to occur . . . I mean postponement of course – and not . . . never mind . . . . Uh, where was I? Ahh, yes, I need to synchronize my various devices . . . there you see my digital wall clock which I have set to 3:12 PM, and you can see the video camera time is the same, as is my wristwatch and the one in the experiment. I will count down to 3:13 PM, which will be the start up time . . . in five, four, three, two, one – What? Why didn't it . . . . Oh, the DNA stabilizer chamber is empty – yes, that's right; it needs to be filled again . . . every bloody time it seems! Oops, sorry for the language . . ."

### Chapter 3: Joe – Aurica, Ontario, Canada – November

Warm in the town, the cold November air quickly turned cold on the highway, so Joe rolled up the truck window. The caseworker in Orillia had advised everyone involved that the best day to relocate Joe would be Friday after school. In this way, he would have the weekend off to meet his new family and prepare for a new school.

Joe's uncle was driving him to his new foster home. He had done nothing wrong at his first one: that one was a temporary home that authorities sent him to when his mother first struggled with drugs. The caseworker provided ample warning to his mother, but recently, she had a relapse.

"Uncle Dan, how come you have such an everyday name, but I have a native one?"

"Well, I had a native one at birth just like you."

"Really? What did your parents name you?"

Relaxed, Dan replied, "Bear Claw."

Excitedly, Joe remarked, "Awesome!" Then he asked, "Now why didn't I get a cool name like that?"

Dan explained, "Well, the tradition is to name a child at birth in relation to nature or the elements. In my case my mother saw a bear going after a wild turkey and saw it claw at the turkey – so that became my name."

Pleased, Joe concluded, "Excellent!" Then, as if he were christening his uncle, Joe stated, "Uncle Bear Claw!"

Dan elaborated, "Well, usually when you pass into manhood, you take a Christian name – sometimes even earlier, I guess because it is easier to fit in. It's hard to be First Nations as it is without the rest of folks identifying you as one simply because of your name."

Joe lamented, "I don't really feel like a 'Joe' though, eh – and I would have been happy to be called 'wild turkey' even . . ."

Smiling as he spoke, Dan explained, "Well, we gave you the name Joe when you first went to school to help you adjust. The school had a few native kids in it but they all went by Christian names already, and so we went for one then too . . ."

Joe reasoned, "Well, I guess any Christian name is better than my native one . . ."

Dan protested, stating, "I disagree! You have the most special name I ever heard – you were named for something almost unique."

"Yeah, yeah, my mother always tells me how few people can be named because of a birth mark, but why couldn't that mark be shaped like a lion or a snake?"

Bear Claw reasoned, "Because the Gods wanted to paint the Sun on you Joe – you are special. I think one day the world will find out that you are special."

"I don't think so, Uncle Dan. I think you want to cheer me up. Its okay, I understand I have to go to this home in Aurica until mom gets better. Promise me you'll visit me on the weekends when you aren't working."

"I told you Joe – I will be there whenever I can."

They rode quietly for a minute or so before Dan commented, "Hey, remember I signed you up for karate at the school you'll be going to! I want you to always attend."

With mild concern in his voice, Joe asked, "Sounds like a pretty rough school – is karate mandatory there?"

"No," replied Dan, laughing, "it's a private club that uses the school after hours – it has nothing to do with the school."

Nodding, Joe replied, "Okay, I get it. Thanks, Uncle Dan."

His uncle wouldn't admit it, but Joe was sure Bear Claw signed him up because Joe was hopeless at defending himself. His uncle would probably also not admit to paying the entire fee because Joe's mother had very little money. Joe wondered if he could ever repay his uncle's generosity.

Joe sat back, looked out at the passing farmland, and he wondered what he would experience next. Would he meet other kids like himself at his new school? He quickly realized that this idea was pretty freakin' crazy. _That'll happen when I sprout freakin' wings!_ The likelihood of finding a second First Nations child in this upper class 'rural suburb' was remote.

Next, he wondered if he would find someone to identify with in the Karate class. When he watched karate movies, experts kicked the pretend crap out of each other. Joe imagined that in a real Karate school, the advanced students kicked the real crap out of the rookies. Joe thought that karate seemed unsuitable to his easy-going disposition.

Seeing a smile emerging on his nephew's face, Dan asked, "What're you smilin' at, Joe?"

"Oh, nothin' special – I just thought it was funny that I never seem to meet people like myself no matter where I go."

Encouragingly, Dan stated, "Don't you worry about that! I told you – it is because you are special."

"Okay, Uncle Dan – I give up – I must be special, eh," replied Joe, although he mentally replaced the word 'special' with 'visible minority'.

_Today, I am a new kid in a foster home, again. On Monday, I am the new school kid, again. On Monday, I am the First Nations kid, as always._ Joe flipped down the passenger-seat visor to look in the mirror at the hole where his front tooth used to be. He added that to his list of negative thoughts.

On the positive side, he had recently turned twelve. At least he did not have to experience this in a new school or home with strangers. He was used to others teasing him for always being one of the youngest students.

He considered his other positive assets. He performed well at school and did not mind meeting new people. Then he thought about an expression he had heard. It went like this: _'As long as you have health, nothing else matters.'_ This caused him to feel with his tongue the hole where his tooth used to be.

He thought about how he lost it. John Storm Cloud knocked it out when Joe refused to continue doing the 15 year-old jerk's math and science homework a week ago. The injury had healed; however, Joe knew he had lost an adult thing before he even became one.

The loss, however, did not deter Joe from wanting to grow up faster. He dreamt that one day he would have a job working with computers or in a science lab or even better with computers _in_ a science lab! It was a dream because Joe knew it had poor odds of materializing. _Yeah, eh – they'll give you a job like that when you grow back that missing tooth!_

When clever white kids showed their knowledge, the adult society praised them and spoke of how bright they were and what 'promise' they held. When Joe had initially tried that, the adult society identified him as a mimic. They assumed he had learned how to ape things he had heard on television.

As his thoughts faded away, Joe asked, "If I learn to defend myself with karate, do you suppose John Storm Cloud will leave me alone, Uncle Dan?"

Dan Bear Claw did not want to mislead his intuitive and intelligent nephew. The child's father was deceased and his mother was a recovering drug addict. Joe had no siblings or grandparents making Dan his only other known relative. Dan held a good job driving trucks, but this meant he was on the road most of his life these days, and could not care for his nephew regularly.

Dan replied, "I think you might be in this home for a year, Joe, but I met the family and they are nice people. They want to help you through the next year. I bet you grow a foot taller and do well in school and you won't even have to see guys like Storm Cloud again . . . and karate is more about helping you achieve some spiritual peace and harmony within yourself. I don't expect you to fight anyone – but hey, if they start a fight, I hope you might be able to defend yourself."

"Okay, Uncle Bear Claw," said the nephew.

"Good, Painted Sun," replied the uncle.

Pointing to it, Joe stated, "Hey, there's the turn-off for Third Street. The instructions say we go south here, eh."

Dan pulled off the highway at the overpass. They had made good time from Rama to 'Escape to Estates', in Aurica.

### Anton's Video Diary 3

November

_"Alright, I am back again to provide proof of my successful time travel experiments. In the past three weeks or so, I have continued to move beyond the mere transportation of inanimate objects. I respect that I do not have actual recorded proof of my successes_ , _but today, I will record a successful transportation event and change the future . . . of humankind . . . for . . . for the benefit of all, uh, for . . . ever and . . . ever, uh . . . etcetera._

"Again, you will see that I have synchronized all time keeping devices appropriately – this experiment will begin at 12:44 PM sharp . . . . I will be transporting a cactus. Here is the cactus – as you can see it is a very good cactus . . . uh, specimen. It has sharp needles – I will touch one to demonstrate sharpness . . . ouch! Shit, I am bleeding – never mind. Oh, damn, the blood is really coming out. I will have to abort – I cannot risk damage to the equipment . . ."

### Chapter 4: Lady Ruth – Toronto, Ontario, Canada – early December

A small gathering of media types had just heard the conference host, Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe; introduce herself, at the Royal York Hotel. Beside her stood the reason everyone was here on a frosty winter morning in Toronto. Lady Ruth introduced the handsome man, by name only, and then asked, "What questions do you have for Dr. Sven Ferengson, Malevcon Mining Limited's newly hired geologist?"

The internet reporter from the _Globe & Mail_, Richard Norbitt, asked, "Well for starters, Lady Clarkson-Smythe, my online readers are extremely concerned about the intentions of a mining company like Malevcon. Malevcon has a well-established track record of strip mining, and so the question is 'what are Malevcon doing in a geologically delicate area like Nazca-Ocaña'!"

"Well now, Dick," began Dr. Sven Ferengson. Then he stopped, smiled, and seemingly innocently asked, "Can I call you 'Dick'?"

Norbitt frowned.

Ferengson quickly smiled again, and then ingratiatingly explained, "You and I, and all the other distinguished guests gathered here today recognize the global authority that UNESCO has regarding Nazca: Malevcon has no intention of strip mining at this Peruvian site or any other World Heritage site. In fact, our site in Peru is more than two miles away from the closest boundary with Nazca . . . so don't worry about that . . . Dick!" He quickly smiled again, and then continued, "Next question please!"

A reporter from the _Toronto Star_ asked, "What exactly did Malevcon hire you to do, Dr. Ferengson? I mean, you are the preeminent North American, if not global, geologist – but also a former PhD archaeology student, as I understand it. What – did they find some . . . funny _old_ rocks down there?"

Laughing through his response, Ferengson continued, "Hey, shouldn't you be rationalizing at the end of your question, adding, 'enquiring minds want to know?' You remember – what was that sleazy, defunct tabloid called? Was it the ' _The Enquirer_ '?" Ferengson paused to determine if the journalist recognized that Sven had insulted him back. Receiving no response, Ferengson sarcastically added, "Are you from the ' _New_ Enquirer'?"

Ignoring Ferengson's insult, the same reporter cheekily concluded, "So, I can print that you declined to answer that question?"

Ferengson offered a wry smile this time, and then began a sweeping explanation.

"But of course I will – I was merely provoking a laugh – after all, we are only searching for gold down in the ground. In fact, a few years ago, when an archaeologist carbon-dated some gold artefacts discovered within the Varna Necropolis in Bulgaria, he was also indirectly identifying that Humanity has been searching for gold in the ground for over 7000 years. It is one of our oldest pursuits, and if I may say so, regardless of its form, one of our noblest ones as well."

A reporter from the _Observer_ in London, England, was listening in on-screen. She quickly interrupted, "Yes, Dr. Ferengson, but what specifically did Malevcon hire you to do?" Then she continued, "I mean sir, you are a famous man but one who could wear two hats there, so to speak. Which hat will you wear for Malevcon? Will you wear that of the archaeologist or that of the geologist?"

Nodding, Ferengson replied, "A fair question and, indeed, one in need of an answer." Feigning sincerity, he continued, "Malevcon hired me to write up a technical review of the site. After I do that, they want me to perform an evaluation on a neighbouring property by estimating resources there by way of studying the data the first site gives me. It is the same sort of work I have performed for countless other mining firms during the course of my renowned career – including having done it for Malevcon in the past."

Another reporter, who was also online, but from California, USA, asked, "So, you're kinda like a scout then?"

Jokingly, Ferengson replied, "Well, a high-priced scout if that's the way you want to put it!"

Inwardly, Ruth surmised _, 'Ferengson certainly exudes self-confidence.'_

"Mr. Ferengson," began another journalist.

Lady Ruth was quick to hear the impropriety, and in her exceedingly refined British accent immediately interrupted, "Pardon, Ms. Levinski, but the correct term for addressing today's interviewee is 'Doctor'." Then she smiled quickly and nodded at the offending reporter. _Look at the revealing blouse she is wearing – Dear me!_

Levinski responded, "Excuse my name gaff, Dr. Ferengson, but isn't one mining location near Nazca enough for Malevcon? I mean . . . are two miles a large enough buffer zone where it concerns mining for gold?"

As he stood there gripping the podium with a hand firmly holding each side, Dr. Ferengson scrutinized his questioner carefully. Lady Ruth noticed an amorous glint in his eye. She had read rumours of his penchant for womanizing. She wondered if he was planning his next conquest: he was handsome by most physical standards. Regardless, a romantic scandal was hardly what she promised her shareholders she would deliver at this conference.

Then, Ferengson smiled ear-to-ear at Ms. Levinski. Lady Ruth observed him very carefully as he replied, "Excuse me, is it 'Ms' or 'Miss'?"

"Uh, it's 'Miss' really," replied Levinski, glancing in his eyes and placing one end of the stylus she held into her mouth. When Ms. Levinski rolled the stylus in her mouth, she revealed her tongue suggestively, and then tossed her brunette hair back as if auditioning for a shampoo ad. _Dear me – how improper!_

Dr. Ferengson responded, "Okay _Miss_ Levinski." With the glint in his eye dilating, he continued, "300 kilometres by 30 kilometres is the area size; thus, one that we geologists would call 'very large' – especially when you consider how far below the Earth's surface we could go."

When he said 'go', Ruth observed Ferengson wink at Levinski. Disgusted, Ruth decided that she would let their discussion continue for now, but then watched astounded as Levinski, with mock-naïve coyness asked, "How far _do_ you drill, Dr. Ferengson?"

Ruth covered her mouth as if reacting to words she had accidentally spoken herself. Before she could stop the conversation though, the entire room of reporters, including the satellite attendees, let out a collected groan of disapproval. You might say they had done Ruth's work for her.

Suddenly, a female voice from the scrum shouted, "Come on, Levinski! Keep this up and the _Toronto Sun_ will want you on page 3!"

Ruth could not identify who had spoken but she was grateful for the timing. From Ruth's perspective, the fact that this anonymous female reporter complained in the way she did shifted attention away from Ruth and onto the indignant reporter.

The _Toronto Sun_ reporter shouted, "I object to your reference to the _Sun_ – we haven't had a girl's picture on that page in years!"

A second anonymous female reporter complained, "Only because you had no female readers until you moved it to the back."

Before Ruth could make a request to stop the sarcastic remarks, a reporter from the _Chronicle Herald_ out of Halifax in Nova Scotia spoke up, and suggested, "Yeah, and while you're answering Levinski's question, doctor, perhaps you could tell us too how _long_ your drill is . . ."

The room erupted in an unsurprisingly all-male chorus of laughter. Ruth was disappointed: she had invited the media to ask serious questions of a serious geologist, and instead got a sex call-in show.

Men – always thinking with their . . .

"Dick," interrupted Ferengson. Then, placing his open hand over his eye as if suggesting he could not see the source of the question because of bright lighting, Ferengson, with false innocence, asked, "Is that you again?"

Ferengson's question begat more unbridled laughter. Suddenly, he resembled a stand-up comedian addressing an appreciative audience. Then he began to laugh at his own quip as if he had invented humour just a few seconds ago with his well-timed one-liner.

Raising her voice over the commotion, Lady Ruth tactfully interrupted, stating, "In the interest of maintaining both professional etiquette and this occasion's decorum, may I ask you all to refrain from this sophomoric line of questioning for the duration of this conference?" Then Ruth quickly acknowledged a different reporter, stating, "From Tom of the _Vancouver Sun_ – your question please, sir!"

"Thank you, Lady Clarkson-Smythe. Getting back on topic, Dr. Ferengson . . . isn't it true that Malevcon recently settled a class action suit in Africa regarding gold mining activity? That is, the same Malevcon that is your new employer. Care to comment?"

Serious again, Ferengson defensively replied, "Certainly, Tom . . . Shakespeare said 'What's past is prologue.' I take that to mean what has happened serves as a reminder for the future. The important part of your question is that from my perspective, this is a thing from Malevcon's past. I played no part in it. Surely, you can respect that I would lose reputation faster than any wealth I could gain by allowing myself to be involved in anything environmentally unfriendly or exploitive . . ."

Another on-line reporter, this one from South Africa, home to most of the world's diamond mining ventures, interrupted, "But doctor, the removal of anything from the ground for any purpose is in itself an exploitive act."

Responding like a supportive advertisement, Ferengson banally expounded, "I can assure you that my primary function after performing all reviews, evaluations, and estimations, will be to undertake an exhaustively thorough regional exploration program before any other drill enters the Earth's surface." He paused for effect, and then slowly continued, "Even this I will follow with a due diligence report designed to protect the company, the environment, and the rest of the Earth's caretakers." Ferengson paused again, smiled, and with false magnanimity added, "Those concerned caretakers of tomorrow's world are today's youth, and diligent adults such as yourselves, and I want to thank each and every one of you out there . . ."

More than one reporter interrupted, which shut down Ferengson. _But what will they print?_ Ruth thought his last statement was an ingenuous gratuity Ferengson sought for a later news sound byte. Had he successfully manipulated the press?

Lady Ruth allowed several more questions despite the sentiment in Ferengson's responses continuing to be false, yet his words sincere for quotation purposes. She respected that Ferengson had showmanship: he was photogenic, polished, and insincere – she wondered if he held political ambition.

On the other hand, while he was apparently a former PhD archaeology student; nevertheless, he did not much resemble a man interested in history for the sake of preserving antiquities: he more resembled a man who wanted to profit from them.

Then, another reporter questioned Ferengson regarding something called 'slant drilling'. Ferengson corrected the reporter by identifying the term instead as 'directional' drilling, whereupon the discussion turned into a semantics debate. As that argument raged on, Ferengson made another sexually inappropriate remark to Miss Levinski, and Lady Ruth felt compelled to end the media event.

Although not completely convinced that the content of the event matched her expectations, Ruth at least felt that the conference had brought Malevcon's mining activities in Peru to the world's eyes.

The handful of local journalists here today would return to work on foot through concrete urban tunnels while the odd traveler to Toronto would return to a hotel room afterwards. The majority of electronically represented journalists turned off their monitors and returned to their jobs in their various global locations.

### Chapter 5: Ferengson – Royal York suite – later the same day

After the conference had ended, Sven Ferengson retreated to his elegant hotel room. He lay down, placed his hands behind his head, and then closed his eyes. Before long he was daydreaming about being with a woman, but just as he was forming a face to go with the shapely body, he heard his cell phone ring. Reaching into his pocket for it, Sven answered the call. It was from the boss.

Shouting into the phone, the General declared, "I heard you handled that bitch's press conference real fine, doctor!"

Ferengson imagined that General Hank Wessel was probably typical for a 60+ year-old retired army type: both hard on people and of hearing. The doctor laughed at his end and replied, "Yes, I believe the English expression is 'piece of cake', sir – and not a bad piece of other things, too – but so transparently falsely sophisticated!"

"Well," began the General, "I knew before I ever had to accept her onto the Malevcon board o' directors that I'd soon need the services of a respected geologist for some real work."

"Yes, sir," interjected Ferengson.

The General continued, "Once she called for that bull-crap transparency conference though, I remembered your archaeology background, and knew that it might pacify the goddamn press – it sure is cheaper buying just one person to do both!"

Ferengson replied, "Sir, I compliment you on your choice of . . . me!" Then, the two laughed smugly.

The General continued, "Now to business, doctor – we've booked you a flight to Cusco in Peru for next Monday."

Hiding his disappointment, Ferengson remarked, "I suspected you might choose Cusco, but I had hoped for Lima. You might say I have a personal reason."

The General advised him, explaining, "Yeah, I figured you'd prefer the nightlife in Lima, but that could make this all 'higher profile' than we want. We don't want any goddamn protesters to get any more press than we have to give them, and you need to keep a low profile yourself, and Cusco is out of the way."

Swedish by birth, Ferengson asked, "Will someone be picking me up there? My Spanish consists of telling Spanish speakers to speak English because they certainly do not speak Swedish."

Sympathetically, the General replied, "I hear ya and I'm sorry to send you to such a third world toilet like this, filled with bloody Catholics and stinkin' Injuns, but hey – God is on America's side. He just likes to challenge us!"

"Indeed, sir," replied Ferengson.

The General continued, "But anyways, yeah, we've arranged everything for ya. You'll have to hold tight in Toronto for a few days because the earliest we could arrange a charter to get you from Cusco to Nazca was next week: you'll be flying all the way, doctor – the first part in first class!"

Business-like, Ferengson explained, "I have the photocopies of all statistics and I comprehend what you require, General. I will send you regular updates by phone."

The General grew conspiratorial, adding, "I appreciate the cloak and dagger style, doctor. If we limit ourselves to verbal updates and write the odd thing down – well, as you know paper burns and words can be denied!"

"I understand, sir."

The General continued, "That damn Internet email crap on the other hand, is like that ad on TV where the cartoon bear has the shitpipe paper stuck to its butt – everybody in the whole world can read yer dirty mail! It's a real pain in the ass . . ."

"Understood, sir; you will be hearing from me soon."

With that remark, they ended the call. Ferengson respected that the General was not being paranoid regarding communication methods – he was being sensible. Despite what email had done to revolutionize communication for the masses in its time; nevertheless, it was easily traceable. Ferengson knew that a great many well-intended folks had lost a career or faced demotion over 'leaked' messages and watchdogs had caught a few dishonest ones as well.

Ferengson realized that General Wessel had held a time zone advantage during their exchange: it was minutes after 6 PM in Malibu, California where Wessel had called from, but here in frigid Toronto it was after nine. The recognition that he was stuck in the freezing Toronto darkness, instead of clinking cocktail glasses with the General in the California sun, miffed the doctor.

Ferengson reasoned that it was entirely that arrogant bitch's fault. Malevcon's head office was in winter-friendly Vancouver, the General in sunny Malibu; yet, Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe called the media event for Toronto, which was her frigid adopted hometown. _Frigid like her, no doubt!_

The General had insisted Ferengson do everything she requested, including making a personal appearance, in order to show compliance and respect. The fact that neither man actually had any respect for the woman was a fact that political correctness and etiquette hid from plain sight.

Ferengson enjoyed this 21st century social disposition of political correctness. No one dared speak anything that he knew the public would not tolerate anymore for fear of reputation loss or legal action; but that also meant the public had become complacent. This passive confidence suited opportunistic entrepreneurs like the doctor and Wessel perfectly.

Sven poured some wine into a sanitized cup, and wondered if he was not living in a Golden Age for wealth-seeking geologists: political correctness shut up the ignorant; duped the reasonably intelligent; and left the capitalistic geniuses free range to line their pockets with gold. He laughed knowing that in the case of his association with Malevcon, that statement was the literal truth.

Sven glanced out his expensive hotel window towards the glass skyscraper across the road. He could see lights on in a lone room within the gigantic office building. Inside this room, he spied a Christmas tree. _Bah! Humbug!_

His least favourite time of year because of bad memories, Sven refocused his thoughts on the task of selecting a second suitable mining site for Malevcon Mining Limited.

During the next few hours, he reviewed the printed data the General had sent him. So far, Malevcon's lone mining property near Nazca had produced gold deposits at a comparatively prolific rate. This made Ferengson smile, as he recalled that he selected that property for Malevcon in the first place. His record so far was perfect.

Printed reports were usually clinical speculations created by statisticians. A geologist like Ferengson would never trust a paper report until he had personally studied the ground. Sven likened this to the idea of glimpsing a picture of a beautiful woman to that of actually touching her skin: the former hints at potential, but the latter proves it.

The Earth is to an expert geologist as an intimate lover is to her partner – She needs me to bring the best out of her.

Thinking of the Earth in such a way ignited Sven's memory of another heavenly body. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone number of the reporter he had flirted with earlier. She would do for one night, and if she still pleased him in the morning, Sven would allow her to share his continental breakfast! _A bread roll for a bedroll!_

### Chapter 6: Lady Ruth – her north Toronto penthouse – later that same evening

Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe had just watched the first reports of her press conference on the Internet. She decided to take a short break after having listened to a sound byte that featured Dr. Ferengson sounding falsely sincere. It had irritated her that this ingenuous comment had by far the most hits. She sat back and sighed.

She knew that while Ferengson surely considered his remark as gold: Ruth knew it was as pyrite. It was fool's gold. Thinking about precious metal, Ruth suddenly spotted the silver coloured bells that adorned her poinsettia, which sat a few inches from her on her desk. She took a moment to appreciate how the festive red plant enhanced the visual profile of her exquisite mahogany wood table – itself positioned perfectly within her spacious, tastefully decorated uptown North York penthouse with such a deft touch that _Canadian House and Garden_ had featured two magazine layouts of it to date.

Her condominium was her tasteful palace of solitude, the Internet her tawdry tower of lunacy. She thought about the way things used to be. In olden days – _near_ the end of the 20th century – Ruth would have read the earliest morning edition of a national newspaper to find out first what happened the day before.

In recent olden days – the _end_ of the 20th century – Ruth caught up with technology by watching tomorrow morning's first edition the night before on television. Ruth recognized that television had defeated print media by getting the last word in first. TV news producers learned they could report tomorrow morning's newspaper reports at 11 o'clock the night before. For years thereafter, television ruled the news, but then the Internet arrived.

Even though Ruth was proud of her successful adaptation from television to Internet, her secret reality was that she immensely preferred newsprint. Ruth agreed with the writer who once said, 'If I had more time, I would have written you a shorter letter'. She felt that this quote described perfectly print media's strengths.

After having watched televised evening news regularly for several years, Ruth had long since determined that its writers frequently relied on visual images to promote a more sensationalistic or sentimental angle to stories than newspaper's writers did. The crafty creators who assembled televised news material did not worry Ruth, but the impressionable public did. _A picture is worth a thousand faulty opinions!_

In addition, Ruth had noticed that she slept poorly after watching the 11 o'clock news. She attributed this to the horrific images she viewed just before bedtime. She decided that she preferred hearing about bad news earlier in the day so that she could adjust to it as the day ensued. _Chin up! Best foot forward!_

This thought reminded her of her family's routines back in Britain. Although they were English, her family did not watch much news on the telly. Instead, they read the morning newspapers while sipping tea and eating biscuits. Although she preferred reading in the morning to watching in the evening, now the Internet allowed her to watch or read at any time. Ruth preferred this compromise: now she could have her tea and biscuits at any time of day.

She glanced down at the remaining chocolate biscuit on the plate beside her digital tablet, and realized that she had eaten two already. As she reached for the third biscuit, she recalled her father's voice telling her, " _Gluttony is a sin!"_ She missed his companionship, his council, and especially his expert handling of the press.

Ruth glanced at the picture of her parents that sat on her desk. In it, her mother appeared beautiful as ever, and Ruth missed her calm and logical demeanour at times like this. A day had not passed she had not thought of them – and thousands had passed.

Snapping out of it, Ruth focused on the issue at hand which concerned the Nazca Lines in Peru. Ruth considered herself fortunate to be able to fund the noble cause of ensuring their preservation. This was her latest philanthropic venture.

Her intention was to alert the entire planet's population to the environmental and archaeological risks of expanding the mining activity in Nazca, Peru. Two miles from where Malevcon was digging were the Nazca Lines. These ancient lines were an important archaeological site that needed protection. They were not a portable piece of history like the kind of artefact Indiana Jones insisted curators display in a museum.

Ruth clicked on her tablet until she was at her favourite Nazca website. She reread that the Nazca Lines occupy almost 200 square miles of ground etchings created by an ancient culture about 1,500 years ago: they are immovable. Ruth was determined to raise international awareness to help the world heritage organization, UNESCO, to protect the Nazca site.

Ruth wanted to raise general awareness beyond the 'creation controversy' that many laypeople and even some scholars believed, which is that an alien culture created the lines. The fact was that recent scientists' carbon dating, and scholars' comprehension of the ancient civilization that lived there, had collectively proved that humans created the etchings.

Ruth did not care who made the lines, she believed people should simply want to preserve them. They are part of our living history even if they are a mostly forgotten thing from our past. The past was important to Ruth because she understood very clearly that so much of history was lost to us now. Whether it was Crusaders sacking the Great Library of Alexandria centuries ago or Taliban dynamiting ancient Buddhist statues recently, Ruth hoped that humanity would evolve from destroyer to protector. She would use her substantial fortune to ensure that humans did.

Specific to this act of preservation, humanity needed to be wary that well-spoken charmers like former-archaeology-PhD student-turned-geologist, Dr. Sven Ferengson, might no longer have interest in the preservation of history, ecology, or the practicing of fair business ethics.

Ruth glanced at her home page and spotted a story about a Greek restaurant newly opened on the Danforth in downtown Toronto. The story did not interest her, but it did recall for Ruth that she equated the Earth with the mythological Greek goddess Gaia. Ruth viewed the Earth as a temple that we should respect and worship.

She was wary that the majority of people did not share her specific view, but they appreciated the protective and conserving aspects of it. She also recognized that they lacked the funds to protect the Earth. Ruth was thankful that she could use her family fortune of $22 billion to assist in her latest planet-saving venture – protecting the Nazca Lines.

She decided it was time to be brave and keep reading the online reports about her press conference. The first one she found accused her of _'stifling progress in an economically-challenged region'_. She read a second report stating that she was _'telling unemployed Peruvians that they could not mine for what rich socialites flaunted around their necks'_. By the time she finished, Ruth had decided that the dirtiest attack read as _'the self-aggrandizing, filthy rich socialite, Ruth Clarkson-Smythe, with her chronic guilty conscience'_.

By defaming her character in print, the last writer exposed himself to a lawsuit. Ruth had encountered libel suits in the past and knew that such cases remained in the public eye for months. Ruth understood how to use this to her advantage: in the future, she would always find a way to mention the Nazca Lines when addressing the media about the libel. Instead of harming her with his remarks, that reporter had helped her Nazca cause.

Feeling confident, Ruth turned on her stereo system and adjusted her Bose surround sound speakers to low, and slipped in a Christmas CD. She was about to turn off her tablet but as she went to do this, she noticed a news headline on the homepage that stated an Asian nation she was unfamiliar with had just indicted one of its prominent government officials on corruption charges.

As the bells in the song chimed, so did the ones in her head, and they alerted her that she recalled a past Peruvian government had experienced similar problems. Ruth realized she should research the current Peruvian government who would be the vendor of the land that Malevcon sought.

She intended that her study would require 10 minutes of research; instead, it took another hour. She discovered that the Peruvian government also had corruption issues: her Nazca challenges increased!

The most recent, and previous three Peruvian governments, had criminal charges proven against them including graft, corruption, embezzlement, bribery, nepotism, bodily harm, kidnapping and murder. Ruth understood that the Peruvian government was not likely to be an honest, well-intended business partner to anyone.

She read that since 1997, three different governments had sold 12 different mining companies drilling rights. The most recent government announced a few weeks back that 'relations with all companies had been cordial and all stringent environmental issues obeyed' since 1997, and so now it was again accepting financial offers in exchange for drilling rights at different sites closer to the Nazca Lines.

To Ruth, combining the Peruvian government's offer with a company like Malevcon and its dubious record of accomplishment was like providing a recovering arsonist with a pack of matches and an oily rag in a dry forest: it was a recipe for an uncontrollable fire.

The Nazca Lines could eventually experience an environmental disaster of sizable proportions resulting in irreparable damage. She might require more help than the press could provide her.

By the time Ruth finished surfing and jotting down response ideas, the time approached 10 PM. She was tired of dutifully playing 'Ruth, Protector of Gaia, and Mistress of Antiquities' for the evening, although she did wonder for a fleeting moment what colour she would use for her imaginary superhero outfit. _I think I should prefer a pastel!_

She realized she could not solve any more problems that evening. She boiled water for a half measure of meditative decaf tea and cooled it with milk. She did not mind that no one would pay her a wage for her work because she had plenty of money already. She also did not care that the common folk would not praise her for protecting the Nazca Lines – protecting them would be its own reward. Ruth drank her tea and went to bed.

### Chapter 7: Alejandro – Peruvian mountains – next day morning, early December

Eva stepped back to examine her work, and definitely did not use the world 'admire' as she looked. She had attempted to copy a pattern that she had seen online. It had called for alternating red and green lights, but somehow something had not worked correctly. Unresolved whether to continue of not, she concluded that for now, she had other projects of concern to complete and time was a factor.

By February, things would change considerably in her world. Noting the position of the rising sun, Eva knew from almost 15 years of experience that Paul would be here soon, and they would, as ever, change places. She wondered what he would think of her attempt to brighten their dwelling. She had already prepared to hear negativity. She knew Paul too well – he would tell her that the lights bring unwanted attention to the dwelling. He would remind her that their work was secret, and that such an ostentatious display celebrating a ritual they had no belief in was too risky.

She would, as always counter that it was in the child's best interests. He had no others his age with whom to interact, and she could tell that during the past year, he had grown considerably both in body and mind: Alejandro was no longer a needy child, yet was certainly not mature enough to be on his own. This worried Eva, because before too long . . . her thoughts trailed off, and then she heard her partner approaching from the rear. She turned to face him.

"Good morning, my dear," he began, in Spanish, through the translating device built in to his protective suit. Seeing the curious lighting pattern, Paul inquired, "Have you been conducting an experiment? I must say it seems rather . . . overt."

Before he could continue on a path she had already predicted, she defensively explained, "It is a festive decoration. I did it for Alejandro."

Disappointed that his emotionally sensitive partner seemed incapable of controlling her impulses, Paul delicately warned, "You are making this hard on yourself, Eva. Remember, in February he will . . ."

Eva did not want to hear him say it, and interrupted, "Yes, we know what will happen, and that is precisely why I am making more effort this year. Soon, this will cease to be anyone's home – the end is near. My conscience troubles me, Paul."

Intimacy was something they had promised to each other, but the combination of duty to Alejandro and a rigid work schedule demanded that personal time spent together would arrive later. Trapped in these necessary protective suits, Paul had to control his resentment of the child. It did not help that she was so oppositional to him in her attitude towards the teen.

"You are right, of course," he began, understandingly. "Build whatever structure or device you feel will help the child . . . enjoy his . . . ritual."

Eva detected that she had not entirely won over his feelings, but appreciated his effort to comply. Gently, she reminded him, "It is called 'Christmas' – a celebration of a fallen religious faction leader. I think it is a perfectly charming way by which to remember someone, especially considering our own belief system . . ."

Playfully, he interrupted, "We are part of a science faction, my dear. We do not believe in . . ."

Now it was her turn to interrupt, and she countered, "Some believe in both things, Paul – they just support one or the other more profoundly."

Paul felt he had succeeded in returning her to good cheer, and had personally had enough banter after another long shift working alone. He inquired, "Speaking of Alejandro; is he nearby?"

Eva explained, "I left him inside with a language assignment. I must say, he is a rapid language learner. He seems to have a considerably advanced facility for them."

Educating the child beyond the basics had always seemed excessive to Paul, yet for discretionary reasons, his opinion had remained a personal secret. Politely he responded, "Yes, he has a certain talent there."

Deciding to return indoors, rethink her festive plan, and say goodbye to the teen before swapping with her partner, Evo spotted Alejandro seemingly hard at work and in Mandarin, inquired, "How is your lesson proceeding?"

"Very well, I believe," he replied in kind.

Surprised to hear him express uncertainty where it concerned language, she inquired in Spanish, "What might you be finding difficult?"

Again, in kind, he explained, "Mandarin has a problem regarding inflection. The words are easy to pronounce, but the tone one uses to speak them is difficult to master."

With a gentle reminder, she began, "The language ranks number one for planetary speakers."

"I know," Alejandro responded. Attempting to sway her thought, he asked, "Can I switch to English? I have been practising that, and except for the frequent multiple meanings of words, I feel very confident about it."

Eva was in charge of his language lessons, and wanted Alejandro to learn. Her attitude was that a part of learning should be enjoyment. She responded, "Certainly," and then spied some dates that Paul had just added to the morning nutritive sustenance. She added, "Can you tell me what, one calls the Spanish, ' _dátil_ ' – in English?"

Alejandro loved a challenge, and quickly ran the word through his translator. A few moments later, in English he announced, "Dates – they are a fruit."

Using her translator, Eva spoke in English, "That is correct. You have not tried this fruit before. I hope you enjoy it."

A few minutes passed whilst Alejandro ate his meal, and during which, as usual, Paul and Eva adjourned to their private quarters to share a few moments. After that, Evo headed to work, while Paul stayed with Alejandro. This was rare, but two years ago, Eva had encouraged Paul to exchange shifts with her once every two weeks. In this way, Alejandro had the occasional benefit of male company through the daytime.

Alejandro continued to use his translator program through his meal, eventually discovering that 'date' meant something else in English: the numerical day of a week. He explained to Paul, "I know today's date. It is December twelve!"

He knew that the correct word was 'twelf _th_ ' but he found saying anything in English with a 'th' letter combination in it extremely difficult to pronounce. Paul actually wanted to sleep, but encouragingly responded, "Less than two weeks until . . . Christmas."

Excitedly, Alejandro explained, "In Spanish, the date is _'fecha'_ – a completely different word."

Distractedly, Paul added, "You are doing well. I believe most native Spanish people speak little to no English."

Alejandro read another meaning for the word 'date' in English. A 'date' also described a meeting between two people who often had amorous intentions with one another. He declared, "I have found one more meaning for the word 'date', in English: it means an amorous meeting between two people. In Spanish, this is _'cita'_."

Slightly laboured, Paul continued, "Very good, Alejandro."

Alejandro decided it would be a clever thing to think of a way to combine all three meanings for the word 'date', into one English sentence. He reasoned that eating dates on any given date of a week was easy enough, but since he had never been on an amorous date – he had never even met a girl his age before! – This required more effort.

While he cleaned up the dishes and Paul excused himself to sleep for a few hours, Alejandro thought about a science fiction film he had seen. In one, a beautiful woman had defeated evil and freed people from entrapment. Alejandro concluded that in his fantasy, he would 'arrange a _cita_ on an appropriate _fecha_ to eat _dátil_ with a young and beautiful actress'.

Cleaning the table with a dishcloth, Alejandro reasoned that dates would taste sweeter shared with her. Then he reasoned he would eat her extra dates if she left any. Then he reasoned she was sweet and he'd very much enjoy an extra date with her – in his fantasy world, of course.

His mind drifted to thinking about what his guardians might reward him with for Christmas. Last year, they gave him the collected _National Geographic Earth_ series. He had since viewed it once in its entirety every two months since. He very much enjoyed it and hoped for more things like it. If he behaved well . . .

Then he thought about a few weeks ago when Alejandro had spied on his guardians. He considered himself lucky that no harm had come from his misadventures that day. His plan misguided, now he felt that it made sense his guardian's kept their laboratory so secretive. Surely, it was because their work findings were top secret.

At any rate, Alejandro had not tried any perimeter 'breaks' since then. It was not worth it to risk angering his guardians if they caught him and he could not imagine escaping to anywhere special. Besides, if he were caught doing this before Christmas, he was sure they would punish him by denying him a gift!

### Chapter 8: General Hank Wessel – Malibu, California – later the same day

Although it was only 8 AM local time, General Hank Wessel sat in his expansive Malibu beach home with a generously self-poured glass of Scotch in his drinking hand. His other hand was his smoking hand and in it, he held a cigar. It was a perfect day so far. Then he remembered the trauma of pouring his own whisky and lighting his own cigar: his manservant Juan had the day off.

It could not be a _perfect_ day if he had to pour his own drink, but Hank had to learn to adjust to the laxness of civilian life. In order to keep the ingrate wetback pig, Juan, from squealing to the authorities about slave wages, Hank had to issue him an unpaid day pass once per week. _This country is going to the dogs!_

As he sipped on his triple whisky, he calmed himself concluding that the little prick always under-poured anyways. Let the stinking swine take the day off – General Hank Wessel would pour his own whisky and get it right for a change! In fact, he had just managed to get his second triple of the morning right only moments ago: he was celebrating.

He needed to congratulate himself because an hour ago, he received a call from his political advisor who had confirmed that General Hank Wessel was about to become Republican Senatorial Candidate Hank Wessel. He understood that while it was true that liberal minded voters dominated the State of California; nevertheless, Hank's team of supporters were the Republican version of a military Special Ops team.

Hank had given them a secret name. He called them his 'Elite Faithful Force of Freedom Fighters' or 'EFFOFF' for short. They had money for bribing, connections for exploiting, and Hank felt certain they knew how to cheat if necessary. After all, he reasoned, most of these workers and contributors previously represented the Bush family.

Hank had no proof, but was certain his EFFOFF team had significantly contributed in 'assisting' Jeb Bush in the miracle of Florida; thus helping to place George 'Dubbya' in the White House the first time, and, considering his track record four years later, probably _twice_. Hank reasoned that if EFFOFF could do it for politicians Hank considered clumsy and careless, then they would have no difficulty assisting a careful and cagey person like himself to victory.

_'A bunch of queers, Jews, and communists may think they're running this State, but my boys will fix all that,'_ he thought to himself as he puffed on his Cuban cigar. He exhaled, admiring its incomparable taste. Then he recalled that it was illegal to possess Cuban cigars in the USA.

He respected that becoming a high profile candidate meant he would have to modify his illegal activities. As a Senatorial Candidate, he could not risk the shit-sniffing media hounds photographing him smoking this type of contraband. He would have to stay off the porch in future. _I need to dedicate one of my 32 rooms in this mansion as a smoking room._

Hank recalled having smoked his first illegal Cuban cigar as a student at the renowned US military academy, West Point. Any memory trip to that hallowed institution included a mind visit to his family.

His father had earned a General's rank in WWII, and survived it; his grandfather did the same in WWI, and his great grandfather made Colonel fighting for the Union in the American Civil War. Of course, Hank was sure his great grandfather would have earned the promotion to General too had he not died on the battlefield.

Hank twisted the handle of his shade blinds, revealing his view to the harbour. Glancing out, he spotted his yacht there and it reminded him of war once again. He had procured it during the war against that ingrate Hussein. _To the victor, the spoils!_

Closing the blinds again, Hank turned back to his shrine, spied his old record player, and saw a song on it that he loved to play. He fired it up, and then sipped on his whisky. The music started and Hank began to dance jauntily. The song described a military battle from about 200 years ago.

The song did not speak of numbers, but Hank knew the result was about 70 American casualties and over 2000 British. Hank sang along with the chorus of the song as it played, " _We fired our guns and the British kept a comin' – There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago . . ."_

As the song marched on, Hank stopped singing and thought of Dr. Sven Ferengson. He was ostentatious and arrogant like the British but with a different sort of weapon. Sven had a 'cannon in his trousers' that he regularly fired off in any direction, risking the exposure of himself, his troops, and the entire operation.

When the song ended, Hank placed his smoking cigar on the edge of the ashtray, and picked up the _USA Today_ with his now free cigar hand. This edition contained reports about the press conference that that bitch Clarkson-Smythe had held yesterday. Hank had watched local and national news last evening and judging by the general lack of coverage, had concluded that no one in his part of the world gave a shit about it.

This did not mean the issue was dead however.

Hank recognized the dangers that do-good philanthropists like Clarkson-Smythe presented. They were media darlings who sucked up to the press and manipulated them like the idiots they were. She sucked up the media spotlight as a thirsty hound did muddy water. To Hank, a hound was just another sniffing breed of dog and she was just a publicity-seeking version of one: she was a bitch that needed a muzzle and he wanted to be the one tightening it onto her snout.

He would have a hell of an easier time doing so if his sexually deviant geologist employee could turn both his mouth and libido off at press conferences for long enough to avoid the media labelling Dr. Ferengson as _'a stone-aged Valentino'_ or a _'Viagra-doped Tarzan searching for his burning, yearning Jane'_. That was how the _USA Today_ reporter described Ferengson in the story.

Hank decided to call Ferengson to warn him that he would need to be a damn sight more careful dealing with the media parasites. They were the blood-sucking fleas on the bitch hound.

Then Hank remembered Ferengson had spoken of something called 'slant drilling'. One media leech had badgered Ferengson about this topic towards the end of the conference. Hank did not understand what the hell Ferengson was talking about by 'slant drilling' and the _USA Today_ article did not make it more clear.

Hank picked up his cell phone and called the geologist.

"Doctor Ferengson," began Hank, "it's General Wessel. We need to talk fer a few minutes – I trust I'm not interruptin' anything?"

Slightly startled, Ferengson lied, replying, "Of course not, General; it's just the . . . maid in the room – I'll send her away."

"Good, doctor," replied Hank, perfunctorily. "Now then, again, I compliment you on your success at the conference but I have just read a report about the debate y'all got into with that reporter about slant drilling . . ."

Sven interrupted, "Yes, sir."

Hank demandingly asked, "Now what in hell is that anyways?"

Sitting up in his occupied hotel bed, Sven answered, "Yes, General, I thought it might come up. You may be wondering why I renamed his term 'directional' drilling."

Hank interjected, "Uh huh."

Sven calmly asked, "Is that your concern?"

"Yeah, that's right. I'm skimmin' through the story as you say that and there's the reference in print – 'directional' instead of 'slant' – now what's the difference?"

"They are the same thing General," began Sven. Advisedly he continued, "But I would highly recommend that you reconsider your choice of nomenclature . . ."

Confused, Hank interrupted, "My choice of . . . Roman . . . architecture . . . What in tarnation?"

Remaining calm, Sven continued, "I meant, General, the term you use to describe the procedure – the name. I recommend that you refer to it as 'directional' drilling." He paused, and then explained, "You see, although Swedish is my mother tongue; nevertheless, I have learned over the years that the word 'slant' has mostly negative connotations in the English language. Take history for example – people refer to 'a slant on history' as being something that is one-sided . . ."

Recalling it as if it were a fond memory, the General laughed, and interrupted, "Like when I kicked them slanty-eyed gooks in Nam . . ."

Slightly startled by Wessel's illogical segue, Sven paused a moment, and then remarked, "Well, exactly General – not only did many factions view that war as a _loss_ for America . . ."

His emotions heightened by the alcohol, Hank loudly interrupted, "Outrageous lies!"

Easily detecting that Wessel had a sensitive spot, Sven commented, "But of course they are, General – but you know what I mean – they referred to a slant on history. Anyway you look at it; the word 'slant' has a negative connotation."

The alcohol influencing his emotional state, Hank continued, "I kicked slant-eyed ass in Nam, doctor."

Using reason, Sven calmly continued, "Yes, General, and you see – there's that word again 'slant' – even if you and I agree it is a fitting description for them; nevertheless, the pacifists and politically correct masses form the majority of opinions and they disagree . . .".

His attention span also shortened, Hank confusedly interrupted, "So what's the advantage in callin' it . . . what was that agin'?"

Sensing something was not quite right, Sven loudly, but politely answered, "Directional! You see, 'directional' can only imply all directions, of which illegal ones can exist, but of which we can deny when needed." Then Sven slowed down again, rationalizing, "In addition, when the politically correct person hears 'directional drilling' mentioned in conversation, he does not negatively respond to such an innocuous and vague term – he passes over it without giving it more thought."

"I hear ya, doctor, and I get it," replied Hank. Then he added, "Well, I sure am glad yer aboard."

Regaining the confidence to continue, Sven comfortably explained, "Should it emerge during any future mining-related discussion, I recommend that you select the word 'directional'. If say, a reporter were to ask you what you meant by your use of that word, you need reply only that you are referring to a 'device with built-in multi-directional drilling capacity', and this will placate them!"

Pleased by this linguistic conspiracy, Hank remarked, "Lordy, now that sounds technical – I like that, doctor!"

Confident they had finished, Sven concluded, "With their mild suspicions subdued, General, the press will continue to use their poisoned fangs upon one another and not us!"

Ferengson watched as Miss Levinski slipped into today's man-catching ensemble, and had just enough time for a lascivious smile sent her way, when suddenly, the General grew secretive, commenting, "Ah yes, doctor, speakin' of the press, that brings me to my next point . . ."

Distracted, Sven absentmindedly asked, "Yes, General?"

With sincerity, Hank explained, "I got to ask you to be more . . . how shall I put it . . . discreet?"

Startled, Sven repeated, "Discreet, sir?" Then he motioned to Miss Levinski to be quiet.

Insensitive again, Wessel explained, "There's a platoon of press pricks and chicks who are lookin' fer scandal doctor, and we can't have that."

Dutifully, Sven replied, "No, sir."

Proudly, Hank confessed, "Y'all have to keep this next thing I'm gonna tell ya a secret – I'm runnin' fer Senator – but no one can know yet, see?"

Cooperatively, Sven remarked, "Congratulations, General, but I'm not sure I follow why no one can know . . ."

"Well, son," interrupted the General. "It works like this . . . politics is a tricky business – certain palms have to be greased, if ya take my meanin' . . ."

Determined to be respectful, Sven diplomatically interjected, "I see."

Oblivious to his listener's situation, Hank continued, "Yeah, we're at a delicate stage . . . the public can't know until we're ready."

Agreeing in order to glean more information, Sven stated, "Yes, of course, sir. I understand your situation."

Relieved that he had made his point clear, Hank comfortably concluded, "I knew you would understand. I can't afford a scandal and yer too smart a man to lead with yer pecker out like that, doctor."

Hiding his shock, Sven transferred blame, rationalizing, "The media exaggerate to sell their pitiful stories, General."

Confirming his stance, Hank firmly remarked, "Yeah, but even if they did lie about you – like the advertisers do about goddamned Christmas – this is about what the stunned-ass voting public believe!"

Ferengson apologized, stating, "Point taken, General!"

Even though Sven thought Hank was overreacting, he had to respect that the General's new public status demanded that his employees avoid scandals at all costs.

Calm again, Hank began, "Now then, doctor, take some advice . . . we both know yer the best at what you do – yer record speaks for itself."

Smiling, Sven interjected, "Thank you, sir."

Then Hank became secretive again, and quickly added, "I need you to keep yer zipper up on this one because that Clarkson-Smythe bitch is squeakier-clean than a duck after a rubber hose enema!"

Confused by the imagery, Sven replied, "A rubber . . . ? Yes, General, I see what you mean, sir!"

Hank continued, "That's right doctor – she ain't gonna appear naked on any magazine cover before you do if ya don't keep it zipped! Do you _compre-hendo signor_?"

As he gave Miss Levinski a gentle backside pat, Ferengson smiled and replied, "Yes, General, I'll maintain the highest level of discretion moving forwards – I give you my word!"

The two men exchanged goodbyes and ended the call. Although Hank respected the Swede for his opinion that men should use women for pleasure and self-promotion, nevertheless, Hank still considered him a high-profile nuisance with a history of promiscuity. _Timing is everything!_

Wessel was sending Ferengson to the Peruvian mountains not by choice but by necessity. That remote place was where the gold digging action was. Fortunately, the only women the doctor would encounter there would be goat herders with developing beards or the sort of prostitute the General could easily dispose of, if necessary.

Ruminating, Hank wandered back to the record player. Turning the song on again, he quickly concluded that no matter how many precautions he could take regarding Ferengson, Hank still saw the Swede wearing an obsolete military Redcoat like the ones that cost the British any hope of success in the song.

Having become inebriated, Hank wondered aloud, "What you need, Dr. Ferengson, is a camouflage flak jacket for all your . . . activities!"

While he sang along again, Hank returned to his shade blinds and opened them again, letting in the sun. Hank looked out at his yacht and remembered fondly how Chuck had helped him procure it as a previous spoil of war. Chuck was his handyman. He could as easily repair a broken thing as break it in the first place. Chuck enjoyed moonlight spying and planting incriminating evidence. He liked taking long walks to the end of the pier, where he usually dropped a bed-sheet wrapped parcel into the water. His absolute favourite work was working with explosives.

To Hank, Chuck's comfort level at performing any task, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be, clearly indicated the man was a perfect Wessel soldier. The fact that Chuck was possibly an inveterate psychopath was a trifle. Where Chuck was concerned, Hank focused on the man's consummate professionalism, and paid him for it. At Nazca, Chuck would make the perfect spy.

Hank could not afford to have Chuck harm Ferengson though, regardless of any indiscretions the doctor committed, because Hank may need him again. Ferengson was perhaps the world's best geologist _and_ was willing to be amoral.

Hank understood little about mining and less about geology: his view of the Earth had mostly consisted of observing it strewn with dead bodies – perhaps like red-coloured sprinkles dropped onto the blue and green icing on a giant ball-shaped cake. The General paused to savour his clever use of imagery, a large gulp of whisky, and two puffs on his illegal cigar.

After he exhaled, the General concluded that men like Ferengson would promise a thing from one side of their mouth, while breaking the promise on the other side. Chuck would be the General's equalizer. Chuck would manage Ferengson.

Pleased with his decision, Hank enjoyed a satisfied moment, but then spotted his secret cell phone. He used it to contact the Secret Society. Did he need them?

Far less manageable than Ferengson and likely to cause major problems was Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe. By now, Hank had reviewed various tactics that do-good bitch had deployed in past ventures. Virtually all of the corporations she had ferreted her way into, eventually wound up scandalized at some level. The scandals always occurred after she arrived but never involved her.

The General felt that this was largely due to CEOs underestimating both her honesty and tenacity. He admired anyone with tenacity; however, when someone combined it with honesty, then the combination invariably became a nuisance. Honesty was something you taught children about in school – it was far less useful when applied to the adult world.

Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe was honesty personified in the real world. She was also obstinate and filthy rich by all written accounts. She was someone who got things done. He admired that quality in anyone except those who did it contrary to his plans.

While walking out to his sundeck, Hank exclaimed, "She's got over 20 billion dollars and it ain't enough. Shit, if only I could turn her to my side, the fun we could have takin' over the whole world!" He shook his head in disappointment because he knew she would never be on his side, yet was his equal as an adversary. She was therefore, someone that General Hank Wessel wanted to do far more than spy on: he wanted her eliminated.

He picked up the special cell phone that _Panthera Tigris_ had given him a few years ago, and made a call.

"Hello, Tigris, it's me . . ."

Suddenly, the thick accent of his former classmate interrupted, "Hello, _Heinz 57_ ; always a pleasure; what can I do for you today?"

Hank chuckled upon hearing his goofy-sounding client code name, but respected that its silliness acted as an assurance of anonymity. Quietly, Hank slowly and clearly began, "I require an asset for assignment in . . . Canada . . . no rush."

### Chapter 9: Natalia at school – Cape Canaveral – the same afternoon

Natalia sat staring at her bagged lunch: cheese, lettuce, and mayonnaise on whole wheat. She used to love this sort of sandwich, but now found it boring. This was probably because today was her fifth straight day experiencing this combination.

She reminisced about how she used to eat a different hot lunch daily at each of her last two private schools. She grew sullen as it dawned on her that she had displayed a lack of foresight at both schools: break school rules and eventually you will have no choice but to eat shitty cheese sandwiches for lunch!

She tossed her full sandwich bag into the garbage and drank her water. That would have to do for now. She figured her blood was still angry from her last hot-tempered eating spree a while ago. To eat one sugar-frosted strawberry pop tart per month was excessive, but to have munched down two that day now seemed to Natalia as life threatening. In fact, on occasions when her nerves had felt shot since the twin tart terror, she had wondered if it was a continual flashback.

Mercurial in mood at the best of times, Natalia had sworn aloud at assholes today that she normally only swore at in her head. She was having another pop tart rehash. Then she saw William Johnson, and he was pathetic. 'Billy', as he called himself, must have been a daily pop tart user, and, thought Natalia, must have been cultivating an unhealthy lifestyle from a young age. Natalia tried to shrug off the burgeoning idea of a confrontation. She needed to be more sympathetic or empathetic to make things copasetic.

Sitting in the school cafeteria, Natalia recalled how Billy had departed after meeting her for the first time a few weeks ago. When he had decided that the introduction had not gone well, he pulled her hair like a sissy at first, but when she did not cry, he pulled it so hard her scalp bled.

To Natalia, Billy was a juicy prime-rib example of how bovine growth hormone; high fructose corn syrup; monosodium glutamate; and US red food dye #6 (not to mention 'sunset yellow #4') had combined to ruin American society in the modern age.

She observed him now as he sauntered through the lunchroom presumably with a continued questing aim to satisfy his insatiable appetite by grazing on the lunches of others. Eventually she saw him come to a stop at a table where two much younger girls sat nibbling and minding their own business.

Natalia recalled that she had seen the two friends lined up to attend flower club as school ended one day. They were innocent sweethearts – true daddy's girls and the sort who Natalia knew she envied. She should turn her back on them and ignore the fact that her last experience with Billy told her he was about to strike. She guessed that he outweighed the two grade 4 girls added together. He was a predator at14 and they were two goldfish in his feeder tank.

Natalia could not turn her back – she would not be a bystander. On the other hand, she could not risk instigation – that might get her expelled . . . again! Instead, she would wait and let him make the first move.

As his purplish-red swollen belly button protruded into the two girls faces, Billy announced, "Hi there! Y'all seen me 'round before now, I know – but so far, I ain't introduced myself. My name is Billy Biff Bear Johnson and I was born on an airboat in the Florida Everglades!"

Hearing his bullshit, Natalia rolled her eyes. He had introduced himself to her in the same 'pre-recorded message' way, on the day they had first met. He was a bullshit artist and a bully. Natalia was sure he was going to steal the girls' dessert treats any moment now, and so with her internal alarm bells ringing, she sprung into action.

First, she collected her discarded lunch from the trash. Fortunately, it remained unsoiled by other dumped garbage, but, considering her new plans for it, Natalia very much savoured the idea that her sandwich had sat in garbage.

Striding confidently forth, she declared, "I think you're full of shit, Billy Biff! There's no way you were born in the Everglades!"

He turned his head to see who was challenging him, smiled when he saw it was Natalia, and then began a verbally venomous assault, shouting, "Oh, the _Ruskie_ bitch has somethin' to say about where _I_ come from? Well, at least I know my parents weren't no Commies plannin' to drop _nukleer_ bombs on America!"

Natalia noted that their exchange instantly aroused the surrounding crowd. She allowed a moment to pass. Satisfied the audience could all hear her, Natalia began, "Unless you want me and everyone else here listening to this shit to believe that you're an adult – then there's no way in this State you were born on an Everglades airboat."

He complained, "I ain't a adult! Who says I have to be a adult, you Ruskie bitch?"

Calmly, she replied, "Well, the US government for a start. You see, Billy boy, the federal government protected the Everglades from white folks back in the early 90's." She smiled disapprovingly at him, and then continued, "I researched it online and only wild animals and Seminole Indians have been born there since then and that was over 20 years ago, Biffy! Are you a Native American Everglades child then, Biffy?"

Gesturing rudely with his fingers, Billy shouted, "I ain't no lazy, dirty _injun_!"

As she winked at her part-Seminole friend, who was among the lunch crowd, Natalia lightly responded, "Didn't think you'd go for that either actually!" Then she placed her fingers on her chin as if scrutinizing him, and politely asked, "Are you over 21 years old then, Biffy?"

Pointing threateningly with his finger, Billy challenged her by asking, "You callin' me a liar, you Commie bitch?"

As if he were stupid, in a brazen scold, she sassily replied, "Well, unless you thought by 'full of shit' I was suggesting constipation, then you would know I already did that . . ."

No one had dared to laugh yet, but Billy sensed they wanted to, and so he defiantly exclaimed, "My family are from Kissimmee – we're patriots, you Commie bitch!"

Continuing her sassy attitude, Natalia quipped, "Well kiss-a-me-ass, I'm from Cape Canaveral – ever heard of that Biffy Bill?"

Ever threatening, Billy growled, "You makin' fun o' my name now, bitch?"

Playing her part, Natalia politely reasoned, "At least I use your name when I speak to you." Then she tried her best falsely genuine smile on him, and continued, "And as a gesture of my friendly intentions towards you, I even brought . . . a second lunch just for you today!" Then she held out her previously discarded sandwich bag towards him and said, "Look!"

Billy paused, wary of her intentions. Natalia noticed his attitude became curious at the sight of food, and then he said, "Now don't think ya can butter me up, missy!" Grabbing the sandwich bag from Natalia, he continued, "I can still kick yer ass!"

Ever deceiving, she feigned being impressed, and added, "And so manly too! Why, that must be why they call you, 'Bear'!"

While he shoved a sandwich half in his mouth, he confidently stated, "Damn straight it is! I got the name when I kicked a bear's ass by myself." He stopped talking long enough to swallow the huge chunk whole, and then proudly bragged, "When I was 8!"

Deliberate in making her attempt a poor one, Natalia copied his slangy delivery, and declared, "Ooo! I must have been wrong – you are a wild animal. I mean, you kickin' a bear's ass when you _wuz_ just a _itty-bitty_ thing yerself; you the man, Billy Biff, you the man!"

As he shoved the second sandwich into his mouth, Billy started to gyrate like a rapper wannabe, and announced, "Yeah, that's the shit! Damn straight!"

Natalia wanted him to be almost finished before she continued. She began to dance accordingly as well, and when satisfied he had finished, she continued, "Oh, Billy boy, you're such a powerful source of nature. . . . Why you're like a . . ."

Still gyrating to the disgust of all, Billy interjected, "Yeah, you can say it . . ."

As if adoring Billy the pop star, Natalia placed her hands on her face as if in mock-awe, and asked, "Oh, Billy, _can_ I say it?"

Lost in a delusional reverie, Billy continued, "Yeah, go ahead and say it . . ."

"Gosh, Billy – thanks," began Natalia. With her false adoration still firmly in place, she declared, "You're like . . . like a fart!"

The crowd burst out laughing; Billy stopped gyrating; his face grew red, and then he snarled, "I'll git you fer that, Ruskie bitch!"

Blithely, Natalia began, "Maybe but I just got you first!" Then she shrugged her shoulders and politely confessed, "You just ate a sandwich from the trash, Sponge Billy shit pants!"

Onlookers laughed harder as he feebly spat out what everyone could see was nothing. Then he threatened her, shouting, "I'll git you for this if it's the last thing I do!"

Perhaps the extra sandwich caused Billy's too-slow punch; regardless, Natalia dodged it easily. As she counterattacked by lifting her knee into his fledgling manhood firmly, but with a dancer's grace, she advised him, "Falling down will be the last thing you do for a while, asshole!"

Several of Billy Biff's friends had to provide the groans for him because Biff himself was preoccupied thereafter with the physical epiphany males experience in such instances when they discover the part just hit feels like it now resides in their mouth.

Standing triumphantly over his squirming body, Natalia reasoned, "You'll have a tough time standing up high to hook up your plastic model airboats from your ceiling for a while, Biffy . . ."

As he lay there writhing, Billy groaned and struggled to say, "I . . . will . . . fix you!"

Instructively, Natalia commented, "Not in the sense of castrating, Biffy – I just did that to you!"

The crowd members laughed heartily at this, if they understood what castration meant, and then Natalia offered one last polite insult, as she enquired, "Do you want me to write your next letter to your favourite pop princess fantasy to let her know of your unfortunate mishap, Biffy? I could let her know for you that you won't be able to caress that picture of her on your wall for a while – who is she again? Ciley Virus?"

The two girls giggled at her; she winked back at them, and then Natalia turned and walked away.

Eventually, this incident led to a trip to the principal's office, but it did not bother her at all. Natalia knew that zero tolerance of bullying at school meant zero effectiveness. She knew that the way to shut down a bully was to bully him back. It worked for her before, although it had resulted in the first private school expelling her.

Adults expelled her, yet they expected students to report bullying. Natalia knew that telling an adult in those situations was similar to placing a bandage on a wound requiring a stitch: it only stopped the problem temporarily. In this situation, Natalia had only experienced that the adult was rarely there when the bandage needed changing. Adults were entirely unreliable.

In the office, Principal Piggleton sat behind his desk like a resolved judge about to pass his guilty verdict. _Here we go again!_

He began, "Why did you knee Billy Biff Johnson in his private parts?"

Coolly, Natalia replied, "Because when I woke up this morning I just suddenly felt like he needed it." Then she offered a quick and neutral smile, and listened as Principal Piggleton explained he would be discussing the matter with her parents, and that her actions would likely lead to her expulsion from the school. When he finally finished the entirely one-sided 'discussion', he asked for her comments.

Her one word response was, "Parent."

He asked, "I beg your pardon, miss?"

Sassily, she answered, "I can't picture you begging me for anything, sir. The image of it alone seems somewhat indecorous, don't you think?"

Taking a moment to realize she had dared to be insolent, Piggleton recovered and stated, "What? Now look here young lady, you're already in enough trouble . . ."

With amplified sass, Natalia asked, "Do ya _think_?"

Pointing his finger at her, Piggleton demanded, "Don't you give me lip, missy!" Then he added, "Why, in my day you'd be . . ." Suddenly, he stopped when he realized he should not be admitting anything about discipline in southern schools during the 1960's.

Deciphering his curtailed comments anyways, Natalia aggressively asked, "Raped? Or if I were a black female, raped and lynched?"

Barely able to restrain himself from striking her, Piggleton's face grew beet red, and then he blurted, "You smart-assed little witch!"

Sensing her provocative counterattack was working, Natalia whimsically suggested, "Witch? Oh, sorry; well then you'd also burn me after the lynching!"

Pointing his finger again, he exclaimed, "Now listen, this is your last warning you foul-mouthed minx . . ."

Standing up, and with mock menace, she interrupted, "Save it . . . Lester!"

Shocked at hearing a student dare to utter his first name, Principal Piggleton puffed, "What?" Natalia noticed that a vein in his forehead appeared to pop, and then he declared, "How dare you address me like that!"

Faking her innocent tone, Natalia inquired, "Why? Your mother or father must have given you the name . . . didn't you love them?"

Grasping the ends of his desk, Piggleton's knuckles became the only visible white part of his exposed body – the rest being red – and then he declared, "I aught to wash your smart mouth out with soap!"

Shaking her head at him, Natalia sarcastically explained, "No, Lester, my _brain_ is smart – my _mouth_ is merely an expressive extension of it." Then she quickly smiled at him, and then counter-threatened, "Besides, washing me implies touching me, and well, even here in the south at the present day, that constitutes assault."

Pushing his seat back as he stood, Piggleton leaned towards her and threatened, "We'll see about that!"

Detecting a physical threat seemed unlikely, Natalia smiled, held her ground, and then revealed, "I don't think so, Lester; you see, I know something that will change your mind."

Placing his hands on his hips, Piggleton demanded, "And what is that you little whelp?"

Natalia could not stop now. She placed her index finger on her lip, looked up thoughtfully, and then politely asked, "Is 'whelp' spelled with an 'h' or not?"

There wasn't time for Natalia to choose between whether it was her last tormenting non sequitur or Lester Piggleton's necktie that had rapidly caused what looked like varicose veins suddenly to bulge from his forehead; however, he was beginning to move towards her.

His rage reminded her of the mythological god a teacher once required her to read about in an old book. She could not remember the name because she only ever skimmed books like that. Devoid of an ancient allusion or a medieval metaphor in her brain's purse, Natalia raised her arm, extended her hand into a 'stop' position, relied on current colloquialism, and declared, "Back off, Lester, you moron!" Then she explained, "My cell phone's been recording everything you've said."

Moving around his desk, he asked, "What?" Then, Piggleton stopped, considered what her admission meant, and declared," You dirty little sneaky bitch – you'll pay for this!"

"Wrong, Lester, I may be three of those things, but I'm no bitch. I think that's a term you should reserve for when you speak of your mother."

Hearing that, Piggleton reached out for the cell phone that Natalia somewhat carelessly held out; snatched it away from her; hurled it onto the side of the metal filing cabinet where it smashed instantly; and then he smiled a villain's smile and began moving towards her again.

As he reached forward to grab her, she realized that at his height, he had a substantial reach advantage; however, her instincts told her that her leg was slightly longer than his reach. She imagined herself next as an angry Beckham, only cuter, and with all her grief transported to her feet, she kicked towards the same spot she had kneed Billy Biff in, and struck pay dirt.

She noted afterwards that Lester had nothing to say either, although he fell harder and faster than Billy Biff had. She picked up the cell phone knowing as she did so that her evidence had evaporated in the smash. She walked slowly over to the writhing principal and placed the bottom of her kicking foot on his voice box firmly.

Presenting the broken device to his face, she threatened, "Now you'll pay for this." She thought for a few seconds while he writhed, and then demanded, "Reach into your pocket and remove your wallet or I start squeezing, maggot."

He complied instantly though he fumbled somewhat in his attempt, and when Natalia accepted it, she quickly proceeded to empty it, and then count it. After, she declared, "Eleven hundred and thirty-eight dollars! Golly, Lester, you're loaded! I can afford an acceptable replacement with this, and I'll keep the extra as payment for the loss of the information inside."

Faintly, as if impaired, Piggleton replied, "I'll . . . be . . . informing police"

With her foot still on his neck, Natalia suggested, "I don't advise it, Lester. You'd have to admit to them that this pretty little missy _done_ _whupped yer_ redneck ass!"

Defiant, he threatened, "Your . . . parent _s_ . . . I'll tell . . ."

Interrupting him with a lasting pain foot-squeeze, and a scream, Natalia shouted, "I said 'parent' – get it right!" She offered him a last kick in his shin, turned away and smiled when she heard him yelp, and then she quietly opened the door and closed it. She smiled meekly at the secretary, who regarded her warily. Then Natalia walked out of the office and headed directly home even though school was not over for another hour and a half.

Once at home, she made herself lunch.

When her mother returned home, she told Natalia that she had already spoken with the principal by phone. Susan tearfully recounted details of the discussion to Natalia explaining that he was permanently expelling her. Natalia shrugged her shoulders to her mother when questioned why it was that the principal had also pressed for a police restraining order.

Natalia recalled events of the day but said nothing. Her mother informed Natalia that her third expulsion from a school in less than a year meant that Susan would hire a private tutor – no more schools!

She warned Natalia that she had grown tired of her 'act'. She alerted the daughter that if she botched this private tutoring opportunity, then her mother would ship her off to her father in 'frigid Toronto'!

For her part, Natalia internally used the term _'bring it on!'_ when her mother issued the ultimatum. Then it occurred to her that if she could leave south Florida for Toronto before the 25th, it might be another dysfunctional Yakushev Christmas, but at least there was a chance it would be a white one!

She thought about Christmas. The one on the way would be her 13th. She knew that some cultures regarded 13 as an unlucky number, but she placed no faith in superstition. As far as Natalia was concerned, superstition was a cool rhythm and blues song by Stevie Wonder.

Today was December 12th. Today was 13 days before Christmas, which seemed a little weird when she remembered that her birthday was precisely 13 days _after_ Christmas. So today was 13 days from the special holiday, which was 13 days from her special 13th day. Was she destined to be 3 times as unlucky this year?

"Private tutor," she mumbled as her mother left the room. "Now, what do I have to do to . . ."

### Anton's Video Diary 4

December 17

"This is Anton here again, with another attempt at time travel, etcetera. As I have yet to succeed on video, I'm just going to double check everything . . . Main engine looks good . . . Just checking that the dimensional shift lubricator is topped up . . . Good . . . Now for the formerly very fussy DNA stabilizer, which by the way, is much more reliable now since I added the extract of Dionaea muscipula. It seems the little contraption responds well to having a DNA sample from the actual traveller. This makes sense of course – just an initial oversight on my part.

"Okay, and here is today's traveller, a Venus Flytrap composed of DNA resembling or related to both plant and animal . . . and I'll just check the engine oil, of course . . . right, that should do it . . . synchronizing for . . . 1:57 PM, in . . . five, four, three, two, one . . . Eureka! For those of you viewing . . . uh, in the future of course – no coincidence intended there . . . uh, you have just witnessed that the plant and the wristwatch each disappeared inside the chamber.

_"While I have a minute – or rather, somewhat less than that now, I would like to quote from the great American inventor Thomas Edison who said of his efforts to create a light bulb,_ ' _I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work!_ '

"I feel I can sympathize with that remark here today and just as Edison, after that day of discovery, illuminated a dark world, so too will my invention create a brighter future . . . for . . . humanity, etcetera.

"Now I will count down to the return of the Flytrap in . . . five, four, three, two, one . . . there you see – it has successfully returned to the chamber . . .

". . . I plan to use a mouse next . . .

### Chapter 10: Ruth visits Anton – Aurica – December 19

Today Ruth was putting aside all her usual corporate philanthropic efforts to focus on a different venture. It was different because unlike all of her other projects past and present; this one wholly involved the personal touch: it was just between her and one other person.

Today, Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe planned to meet with Doctor Anton Vladimir Yakushev. Ruth had a secretive arrangement with the doctor. Starting several years ago, she had agreed to fund fully the continuing research of the former NASA astrophysicist.

NASA had originally hired Anton to develop an improved spaceship propulsion system. He was currently a former astrophysicist probably because about a decade ago rumours emerged that he had voiced his theories on _time travel_ in such a way as caused his superiors embarrassment. Allegedly, Yakushev had claimed then that his theories were legitimate and attainable within the next few years. Seemingly, this unpublicized outburst had led NASA to _'require him to step down'_ as head of its Mars exploration team. After Yakushev resigned his post, the scientific community ridiculed then ostracized him.

Ruth felt that scientific research was valuable in all fields, but had a personal interest in one area specifically: aircraft propulsion. The origin of her vast wealth was in aeronautics – CS Aeronautics remained today as the cornerstone of her financial empire and the world's leading producer of civilian aircraft.

While Ruth respected that Anton's NASA research involved rocket engineering and not the jet version; nevertheless, she reasoned he was an intriguing risk. The way Ruth viewed his background; he must regard jet engineering as the simple stuff.

So far, however, he had produced little that her builders could use, but he was comparatively cheap and she kept him secret anyways. If he ever made a practical breakthrough, the rewards to civilian aviation could be significant. With $22 billion in her wallet, Ruth could afford patience.

Today she needed to meet with Anton for their twice-annual progress report. This meeting was particularly important because it also marked the end of their current agreement plan.

As Ruth sat reviewing Anton's biannual report, she once again realized how little she knew about science. Ruth knew as a former Business major student who minored in both Literature and History that her education had connections to humanity's past and not to science. In fact, even her non-degree credits included Mythology and Fine Art: everything about her post-secondary education had a 'historical' angle except the business element – science was not her forte.

Sitting back in her seat, Ruth tried to recall any positive memories of science that she had found enjoyable. Then she remembered viewing the first _Star Wars_ films as a child. She remembered that the immensely popular films had profoundly dominated pop culture. For a time after viewing them, she recalled having fantasized about being a space explorer. _Fat chance!_

With her lunch settling in, Ruth felt a bit sleepy. Drifting off, Ruth dreamt that aliens had captured her. The aliens wanted the secret of time travel. They had a mind-probing device. She saw herself strapped to a chair resisting the probing capacity of their device. She could see herself resisting successfully at first but eventually she weakened.

As she imagined struggling to keep the secrets, Ruth tried to free herself but the bonds on her hands were too tight. She needed a champion to save her but saw no one as the alien approached her with the extra deep-probing, head electrodes . . . and then Ruth's cell phone rang.

"Ruthy darling, it is I, Uncle Chauncey. I have that financial update you requested," began her ancient, great uncle, Chauncey, from her mother's side.

"What? Oh sorry, uncle, yes of course," replied Ruth, distractedly. Coming out of her daze, she asked, "Is it the one we anticipated?"

Joyfully, Chauncey explained, "Indeed. Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe, I proudly announce for your ears only that you now possess three Canadian dollars for every person on the planet – you are 23 times a billionaire!"

"Thank you, Uncle Chauncey! I will celebrate with you this evening or tomorrow evening, but for now I must drive north for a meeting!"

"Well done, child, your parents would be proud!"

"Thank you, Uncle, ta-ta then!"

Before disconnecting, Chauncey added, "Stiff upper lip and tally ho!"

Ruth forgot about her fantasy and thought fondly of her great uncle instead. The octogenarian Lord Chauncey Clarkson was her closest relative and trusted financial advisor. From the day she was on her own, Ruth began to see him as a sort of giant soft pillow beneath which she stashed the family fortune.

In addition to building on the original family business in aviation that started in the 1950s, Ruth had diversified shortly after the new millennium. Time and choice had been kind regarding the results. Her earliest investments in sustainable agriculture and renewable forestry businesses as well as recent ones in children's ethical entertainment had soared in value of late.

Thinking of 'late' caused Ruth to glance at the clock and seeing the time, she almost jumped to attention. She needed to start her two-hour drive north or risk a highway traffic jam. Ruth collected what she needed; dropped these things into a large but tastefully designed shoulder bag; and headed to her underground parking spot.

She resembled a graduate of the most renowned of English sidesaddle riding schools, as she slipped elegantly into the driver's seat of her wealth-understating sedan and drove off to meet Anton. She glanced at her car's clock and decided that she approved of it showing 1:30 PM on the dot. She approved because she needed to avoid the ubiquitous North American urban weekday rush hour period. By departing before 2 PM, she had a good chance of avoiding traffic.

Pleased that the roads were mercifully snowless, Ruth began her drive. Before too long, she spotted that snow covered patches of the surrounding countryside, and eventually, it fully blanketed it.

As she drove, her mind drifted like the snow along side her. She thought of the reasonably successful press conference and her determination to protect Nazca for the sake of humanity. Farther up the highway, as the snow began to fall lightly on her windshield, Ruth admitted that just as the snow treated her indifferently, so most of humanity would regard her efforts with Nazca.

She expected that in six months most people who read yesterday's Nazca news would be barbecuing discount hamburgers after consuming a few too many alcoholic beverages on their suburban decks. By the time they accidentally lost bladder control in their swimming pools later at night, they would have forgotten about the potential reasons why curious bunches of ancient etchings on a Peruvian mountain plateau were important enough to want to protect.

She drove on and the snow fell a little harder. She tended to drive by memory rather than relying on her GPS. She reasoned that as long as she remained on the highway, then she would focus on the road and not a gadget. This seemed safe to Ruth and she adored safety.

After nearly two hours of driving, Ruth passed the first road sign identifying Anton's community, Aurica. Aurica was a thinly populated but very large farming community between two small cities. Aurica sounded to her suspiciously like the Latin word for gold – aurum. It seemed that gold was inescapable at present.

Determined to dismiss gold from her thoughts, Ruth decided to focus on the potential excitement and certain curiosity of a visit with Anton Yakushev. The potential excitement such a visit might hold was obvious: he might announce a breakthrough one of these visits.

The certain curiosity was the unknown entity. He always seemed to have something he considered exciting on the go but which confounded Ruth. She often had to feign excitement politely at such revelations but enjoyed his level of enthusiasm as he did so. She knew humouring him in this way was fraudulent, but forgave herself because she was certain he did not care what anyone thought of his work.

Spotting his exit, she signalled. She chuckled reasoning that a picture of Anton surely stood beside the definition of _'eccentric secluded scientist'_ , in an imaginary encyclopaedia. He was a human cliché. He was a strange chap.

As she turned down the side road called 6th Street, Ruth noticed her iPad poking out of her shoulder bag. Ruth recalled that earlier she reviewed on her iPad news stories from Anton's past, one of which went like this, _'an unidentified NASA spokesperson speaking on condition of anonymity revealed that the agency possessed information linking Yakushev's signature to the wasting of taxpayer monies entrusted to NASA for serious research'._ The statement veiled thinly an accusation of embezzlement or negligence or even a combination of the two: very serious charges indeed.

By now, Ruth had concluded that these assertions were likely false. Since becoming his sponsor, Ruth had been his only accountant. She alone reviewed his expenses every six months. His expenses had not only been meagre over the years; moreover, they were incredibly consistent and seemed even to defy a sense of inflation. She wondered how he afforded to eat with expenses that low.

He also submitted upon occasion, random expenses that seemed to defy logic. This time for example, Anton billed her for $104.53 worth of paperclips yet previously had never billed her for such an item. That this seemed an absurd requirement became even more outrageous when she discovered he had never billed her for paper ever. Did she, after all her life experiences, have the definition of the word _paper_ clip wrong? _To what did he clip them and why?_

As she pulled into his snowy driveway, Ruth resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was only one occasion after all, and if she saw no sign of paperclips in his work today, then perhaps she would begin a search for a discreet medical doctor with hoarding addiction experience and 'get him in'! Alternatively, or conjunctively, she would enrol him in a PHA (Paperclip Hoarders Anonymous) group, and give the venture her full financial support.

Innocent until proven guilty!

As she turned the corner towards his farmhouse, she saw him emerge through his front door. Dr. Anton Vladimir Yakushev – Ruth's personal philanthropic project #1. She paid his wages and praised him as well. Did she have this all backwards? Was there a chance she was just a fool with money?

"You made good time, Lady Ruth," offered Anton, with nary a trace of an accent. Ruth had initially theorized that his lack of an accent was probably due to his 150+ IQ. Anton, however, had told her that it was because he enjoyed American pop music and watching hockey on TV.

As she carefully dodged a patch of ice on his poorly cleared driveway, Ruth knowingly replied, "Yes, I only had to arrive late by a full hour once, Anton. Now I arrange my schedule meticulously to avoid tardiness!"

"Sorry about the driveway, but I rarely venture out – at least not until Natalia arrived."

"That's fine, Anton, I anticipated this, but I did not anticipate that," began Ruth. Then, while she grasped his arm to avoid slipping, Ruth asked, "What's this about Natalia arriving? Isn't that your daughter's name?"

Anton explained, "Yes, she arrived late last week from Florida."

Suddenly Ruth made a connection, and stated, "Ahh! Of course, Christmas! How wonderful for you both. It will be a Christmas holiday and a reunion! I did not realize that you planned . . ."

Concerned, Anton interjected, "Sorry for interrupting Lady Ruth, but she is not visiting on holiday – she has come to stay!"

As Anton took her coat and hung it in the closet, Ruth queried, "Oh, well . . . is that a bad thing, Anton?"

Cryptically, he remarked, "Based on what her mother explained as to the reasons why . . . I'd say very bad!"

"That does not sound like a very good start, Anton," Ruth agreed.

"Admittedly, Lady Ruth, I expect difficulties . . ."

Looking towards the living room with concern, Ruth delicately interrupted, "Is she inside now?"

"No, she called to say she has joined the volleyball team and they are playing after school."

Ruth had previously noted that although Anton was nerdy; nevertheless, he was normally a very handsome fellow with many flattering wrinkles. As she sat down, she noticed that today he appeared worn out with prominent worry lines. She wondered how she could help. She asked, "Do you want to talk about it while she's not here then?"

With a slow and thoughtful nod, Anton replied, "That is kind of you, but it really isn't your problem, and I must respect your valuable time."

Suspecting he was being his typically reclusive self, Ruth decided to try hard to convince him of her sincerity. Quickly, she began, "I don't mind; besides, Anton, I'm sure you have detected before now that science is hardly my area of expertise. Even if I lack experience with children, surely you'd admit I'd be more useful chatting about one of them as to hear your detailed scientific postulations that we both know I will likely fail to understand anyways!"

"But, Lady Ruth," he began.

With a raised hand gesture, Ruth interrupted, "No, I insist; if you feel a need to discuss it, well then consider me an analyst for the next while, even if I just listen." Then she crossed her legs, sat back in the large comfortable easy chair, and inquired, "Is the tea ready?"

Realizing that he had prepared tea, Anton, quickly replied, "Of course, where are my manners?" He added, "I'll be right back with the tea and biscuits," and then hurried to his kitchen

As Anton left the room, Ruth glanced around at the sparse furnishings. If the contents of this room were a common example of his spending habits, then she need not worry. Clearly, he used her support to fund his research, not his comfort. Anton appeared to own essential furniture, and realistically, never decorated. As she heard him returning, Ruth wondered if perhaps Natalia would make a difference.

"Well," began Anton, as he returned with the refreshments and offered Ruth his lone bone china cup and saucer. "I must say," he continued, while he filled the cup with tea and slipped a chocolate biscuit onto the saucer. Standing upright again, he concluded, "If you insist on assisting me in contemplating my parental algorithmic challenges, Lady Ruth, then I would appreciate it. I would also appreciate a woman's input. An adult female perspective is something I completely lack data for, and Natalia is quickly turning into one of them!"

Hearing his response, Ruth raised her brow in surprise, demurely lowered it, smiled, and then candidly commented, "Excuse me but, that description sounds rather like you are referring to an alien species you have analyzed using the latest computer program, Dr. Yakushev!'

As she sipped her tea, Anton sheepishly replied, "Sorry, Lady Ruth . . ."

"Please," she interrupted. "How often have I requested you use plain Ruth?"

Anton reasoned, "Fair enough, Ruth, but I must respect your title."

"Thank you, Anton," replied Ruth, and then she smiled coyly. She secretly enjoyed his formality and respect; after all, her title originated from her family's aristocratic background. She also had few genuine friends – Anton, after all these years, had spent more time with her than most people with whom she associated.

After a pause, Ruth watched as Anton's returned smile evolved into a frown. Suddenly, he declared, "My daughter is very angry, and I cannot determine why!"

Nodding slowly in sympathy, Ruth encouraged him by interjecting, "I see."

Relieved by his admission, and that Ruth still seemed interested, Anton immediately began to pace, and then explained, "Moreover, any unknown variable that I apply to the equation seeking a successful conclusion, only seems to produce an increase in the remaining number of variables possible to the potential solution – it is a challenging problem to say the least!"

Realizing he needed considerable help, Ruth gently responded, "Yes, especially since Natalia is a person, and not a chemistry experiment."

Ruth's frankness and direct approach created a slight pause in their discussion.

After a sip of tea, Anton sat down, and remarked, "You are correct, of course."

Ruth sensed another long pause was about to ensue. She delicately placed her teacup down on its saucer, stood up, walked over to him, and then smiled his way. Hoping to spark whatever human relationship memories this scientific loner genius had in him, Ruth touched his hand. He looked up at her and saw her warm smile. Suddenly, he felt he could continue.

Slowly, Anton explained, "Until she was aged five, I felt I understood Natalia; yet, since our family break-up, I have rarely spent time with her – although not by choice, I can assure you."

Gently, Ruth suggested, "Perhaps that is part of the problem – you no longer know each other. Perhaps you need to start again."

Seemingly having made a similar conclusion, Anton lamented, "But where to begin?" Then he confessed, "Her mother identified several serious transgressions that Natalia had of late committed."

Concerned, Ruth asked, "What sorts of things has she done?"

Anton stood up, ran his right hand through his fine, sandy-coloured hair, and then explained, "According to her mother, in the past 18 months, Natalia has been expelled from two private schools and one public school – twice for violent behaviour and once for truancy."

Trying to remember, Ruth asked, "She's just twelve, isn't she?"

"Soon to be 13, in fact, but that is not everything," continued Anton. He began walking again, while he explained, "The final incident was a severe one. Natalia's mother explained that she hired a private tutor after the public school stint, in order to be sure of Natalia's whereabouts at all times."

Returning to her seat, and her tea, Ruth remarked, "Good idea under the circumstances, I suppose."

With a slight bit of sarcasm entering his speech, Anton added, "Yes, however, the evening after her first session, Natalia admitted she had burnt a hole with a cigarette into her tutor's very expensive rabbit fur jacket."

Placing her teacup down again, but more hurriedly this time, Ruth exclaimed, "Dear me! Did she provide any explanation as to why?"

"Indeed," began Anton. Befuddled, he revealed, "She claimed that she acted on behalf of the animal kingdom and that her tutor was a selfish bitch."

Placing her opened hand over her chest in shock, Ruth responded, "Oh my – anything else?"

Even more baffled, Anton continued, "Yes, she said that she wished that killer bunnies really existed to tear her tutor to pieces!"

Confused, Ruth repeated, "Killer bunnies?" Then she admitted, "I'm not certain if I follow, Anton."

Anton confessed, "Neither did I." Then, with probing sincerity, he turned to Ruth and cryptically explained, "Natalia said _'you really had to see the film'_ and that _'it was hard to explain without laughing'._ "

Still confused, Ruth remarked, "I see; and what did you say to that?"

Very serious, Anton firmly answered, "I assured Natalia, as her mother had, that the incident was not a laughing matter!"

Impressed that he had been authoritative enough, Ruth responded, "Indeed; did she say anything further?"

Deflated somewhat, Anton confessed, "Yes, she referred to her tutor as an _'ashtray-smelling asshole'_!"

Unable even to consider a second chocolate biscuit having heard such rowdy revelations, Ruth plunged forward, and declared, "Goodness! One can easily detect the anger there, Anton, but _why_ is it there?"

Agreeing, but no closer to unmasking the truth, Anton exclaimed, "Exactly, Ruth!" Anton began to pace, as the scientific analyzer in him returned. He reasoned, "Even if Natalia's assessment of the tutor's personality were reasonably accurate; nevertheless, both the destruction of her personal property and the threat of assault by killer bunnies – although, I suspect, purely conjectural – seems, by even the most minimal standards of decent behaviour, to be patently inexcusable!"

Impressed and hopeful, Ruth asked, "Did you discuss it with her?"

"I did ask," began Anton enthusiastically. Then, deflated again, he admitted, "But she turned mute and this she followed up with a period of sullenness."

Nodding slowly as if in awe, Ruth responded, "I see."

Slumping into his chair, he further confessed, "In turn, as usual, I lost my attentiveness thinking about my work."

Probing, Ruth inquired, "Do you mean that you . . . ignored her for awhile?"

Slowly, Anton admitted, "I suppose one might perceive it that way."

Convinced she could form one conclusion accurately, Ruth remarked, "I suspect that an especially angry young teenage daughter might, Anton." Then she had an idea and stated, "Perhaps you should be attending her volleyball match right now."

Anton stammered "Ahh," twice, and then reasoned, "You may be right, but of course, we scheduled our meeting for now, and we hold them only twice per year – I needed to be here for your arrival."

Ruth queried, "Yes, but did you explain that to her?"

Sounding somewhat ingenuous, Anton replied, "I mentioned I had an appointment to keep."

Like a mother suspicious that her child was lying to her, Ruth asked, "Did you sound as insincere to her then as you did to me just now?"

He plaintively admitted, "Fair enough, Lady Ruth, but then, I was not expecting to receive her as a permanent house guest. I have been on my own a long time."

Forgiving him in her tone, Ruth responded, "Of course you have, Anton. It must be confusing for you!" She stood up, and suggested, "I'll tell you what; let's go and see her match and then treat her to a lovely meal on the town after, shall we?"

Surprised, Anton repeated, "A meal?"

Pre-emptively not wanting to embarrass him, Ruth clearly stated, "My treat, of course." Then she smiled and continued, "I assume there is a restaurant in the town?"

In more of a confessing tone than a flippant one, Anton revealed, "There isn't even a town per se – there are several pockets of dwellings scattered throughout the township."

Ruth queried, "And not a restaurant to be found amongst one of them?"

Shaking his head, Anton replied, "I have no idea; regardless, what you are suggesting will make your eventual departure hour . . ."

"Quite late, yes," interrupted Ruth. Then she requested, "I may need your guest room for the night by the time we conduct our business."

Verbally stumbling, Anton confessed, "It has never been used, Lady Ruth, and it is spartan for one . . . even far less . . . distinguished than you."

Pleased by his assessment, yet not wishing to appear conceited, Ruth fanned her hand in front of her face and remarked, "Anton, I can feel a blush growing."

Plainly, he responded, "One need not blush at the truth – to the world, you are Lady Ruth, the famous philanthropist."

"And just plain Ruth for the rest of the night," added Ruth demurely, as they both rose to depart. At the coat rack, Ruth asked, "Say, do you suppose Natalia might know who I am already?"

As he gestured for her to exit ahead of him, Anton revealed, "I keep your relationship to me a secret. If she knows of you; it is because of the media."

In order to avoid slipping in her high heels, she grasped his hand firmly, and confidently remarked, "We shall soon find out!"

### Chapter 11: Ferengson – on the plane to Peru – same day

Sven Ferengson reclined in his first-class seat; tipped his pre-flight glass of Champagne into his mouth; let the bubbles tickle what they could; and then stole a glance at a flight attendant's backside.

"Excuse me, stewardess," called out Sven, to a different one. She was closest to him.

Slowly turning to him, and before seeing him, she responded, "Yes, sir? What can I do for you?"

"Ah, thank you stewardess, only, my drink is dry," began Sven. As she turned to him, he saw she was short and stout; he explained, "I wonder if I could trouble you for a refill."

Smiling cordially, she responded, "Yes, sir; coming right up, sir."

When she turned to fetch the bottle from the ice bucket, which sat ahead in the spacious aisle, Sven scrutinized her form. He concluded she was the matronly type, thus, certainly not his. Her nametag read 'Cindy' but in his mind, Sven substituted 'Frumpy' for it.

Cindy returned, filled his glass, and cheerfully said, "There you are, sir!"

"Thank you," replied Sven, with a forced smile.

Then Cindy offered him advice and because she whispered it, Sven had to assume she clearly meant to be helpful. Cindy explained, "Only, people refer to us as 'flight attendants' nowadays, sir!"

"Ah yes," began Sven. Then, ingenuously, he continued, "Of course they do – it has been a long time since my last flight. Forgive me."

With satisfaction, Cindy replied, "No problem, sir."

By the time she had fully turned round to leave again, Sven had decided that Cindy had not deserved to be so smug. Suddenly, Sven's sarcasm popped up for a visit. It inwardly remarked, _'Big problem dear – you've a butt so big, it fills the aisle and spills into my seat!'_

Sven smiled at his quick-witted thought, but then quickly altered his demeanour from insincere to lascivious once he had returned his glance to the rear end of the first 'flight attendant'. Her derriere was rare: he compared it to Miss Levinski's from a few days back. _This one's ass is nicer than hers was – firmer and more compact!_

The standard _dong_ sound accompanied by a flashing red light went off alerting passengers that the plane would soon start moving. As always, Sven quickly grew nervous. His pre-flight tension was mounting. Despite being a passenger aboard over 200 intercontinental flights in his career; nevertheless, Sven was still afraid of flying.

If Sven were a passenger in a car with a suddenly sick driver, then Sven could easily replace the driver – he might even stand a chance doing the same in a boat or a train – but not in a plane. Planes had multiple height, speed, and directional, indicators – not to mention cabin pressure. Cars had gas, brakes and steering wheels – much easier.

Planes were complicated enough to have backup drivers – co-pilots – but Sven reasoned that _only_ when he flew, and _if_ the pilot became ill from tainted food, then so too would the co-pilot. It was all perfectly logical to Sven.

Nor would Sven accept believing that pilots shared differing sleep schedules as a safeguard. Sven knew that most flights were only a few hours – Sven imagined that both would be sound asleep at the controls if one were.

Sven sipped his drink and wondered if the pilots were currently following his suit. Yes, they were probably getting drunk up in the cockpit right now! Later, with everyone up there contentedly asleep in the cockpit, the plane would crash into a mountain, and Sven would be none the wiser for the last few seconds of his life.

Sven needed a distraction. He finished his drink for one, stole another delectable backside glance for two, and ordered another drink from Frumpy, for three. Seeing the refilled cup in her hand as she returned calmed him. Then he accidentally refocused on her appearance and his anxiety returned.

She was a 4-foot, 11-inch, walking rectangle, who had just corrected him by explaining she was a 'flight attendant'. Under his breath in a questioning tone, Sven muttered, "Flight attendant – You're a mobile refrigerator with orthopaedic loafers on your feet _._ " Sven downed a large gulp of champagne as if to wash the image away.

Suddenly, the flight attendant with the delectable backside turned to face his stare and to Sven's surprise, she was black. Where he currently ventured, the women would be similar. Sven had been with brown-skinned women before, but not with a woman of such darkness. The women he had the last time he was in Peru were coloured café latte.

A minute passed, and then the departure warning sounded, alerting passengers. Sven raised his seat into the upright position and fastened his seatbelt. In doing so, he noticed a Christmas decoration pinned to a traveller's seat in front of him. He noticed a child in the seat, and thought back to lonely Christmases in Sweden without his mother.

Sven shook his head slowly and thanked fortune that he was a happily childless single male. In addition, he had just started a third round of expensive Champagne while sitting in lavish first class on an expense paid intercontinental flight.

Since he felt suitably calmed by what he had consumed so far, Sven prepared himself to savour the remainder of his third drink, slowly. After all, these French bubbles would cost anyone $15 per glass at the retail price. As he finished a small sip, he paused to examine the tiny bubbles. After having computed that each of hundreds of these minute bubbles must be worth 15 cents apiece, Frumpy interrupted his pleasure.

She declared, "All trays must be folded up and securely fastened for take off, sir!"

Sven had lost track of time, and weakly protested, "Certainly, however, I could easily just hold on to the drink afterwards."

With the same sort of smug smile as before, Cindy stated, "The rule is for your own protection, sir!"

Sure that she was taking perverse joy in spoiling his pleasure, Sven gruffly responded, "Fine – I'll just finish it then!"

Without breaking her grin, Cindy added, "Please do, sir."

Sven took a decidedly dignified and delicate sip of his Champagne – a normally appropriate sort. Then he noticed that Cindy was still standing in front of him, only now she had her hand positioned as if awaiting tediously, an Olympic sprinter's baton pass. Reasoning that he could not win with his delaying tactic, Sven unceremoniously gulped the remainder of his drink down as if it were an undesired medicine.

Sven's anxiety altimeter climbed acutely when he felt the rush of the plane starting to roll. In an attempt to distract himself from his nausea, Sven reviewed the short paper report that General Wessel sent him a few days earlier. He would immerse himself in work until this giant craft levelled out in the sky.

He tried to read, but quickly felt the effects of his gulped Champagne beginning to tire him. Sven placed the paperwork into his briefcase and resolved to have a sleep. A few moments passed and then he felt the plane lift off, and so he drifted off, forming an image of the delectably shaped black woman as he went.

Suddenly, Sven heard a female voice whisper, "Excuse me, Dr. Ferengson."

In his alcohol-induced daze, he opened his eyes and saw a hazy looking nametag two inches from his face. Attached to the nametag was a busty, stunning brunette, holding a bottle of _Veuve Cliqout_ Champagne. _Am I dreaming?_

"My name's Montana," purred the woman.

Still dozy, Sven questioned, "Mount Anna?" sure he was dreaming, Sven suddenly became as frisky as Bond, and added, "Certainly, my pleasure; and I don't believe I'll ask the Queen for permission!"

She replied, "I'm sorry, sir – you seem confused. Sorry for waking you, but I have a message for you."

Sven watched as she lowered his table; placed yet another glass of wine on it; and then, produced a sheet of folded paper from within her blouse, which she handed to him.

He was certain she had produced it from her cleavage area: his head began to clear immediately. Sven decided she must want him physically, and as soon as possible! He wondered if there was a washroom free for him to woo her. It would be uncomfortable to be sure, but he would try his best. He dared to comment, "I might have the time, but I expect this plane has no place!"

With a wink, Montana replied, "Ah ha, the General warned me of your charms, doctor!"

Hearing Wessel's title caused both Sven's fantasy and enthusiasm to flee in a heartbeat. Disjointedly, he asked, "The . . . General . . . sent you?"

Montana explained, "He said it was urgent, doctor. He said he requires you to review the update I just gave to you. He demanded that you contact him after you arrive at your final destination – he was most adamant!"

Subdued again, Sven nodded to Montana in acknowledgement, and then she turned to walk away. Sven decided she walked as if she was a fashion runway model, and he could not resist leering at her and trying to restart his fantasy. He stopped his fantasy reboot when he replayed her words in his head. _'The General warned me of your charms'_ – it was as if the General were here watching him.

Sven felt somewhat betrayed, at least by expectation, and then he worried about his privacy. Even at 35,000 feet, the General had prying eyes. _Focus._ The folded paper indicated that the General received data that revealed a Malevcon miner had recently discovered a thick vein of almost pure gold. This had occurred at the existing Peruvian site. As Dr. Sven Ferengson examined the technical statistics of the report, he concluded that this vein could eventually prove to be the largest ever found. This could be the gold deposit of all time!

On the other hand, the note indicated that the English bitch, Clarkson-Smythe had demanded an inspection of the mining facility in Peru for Monday, March 16th. This was equally important to find out! Ruth Clarkson-Smythe was a meddlesome spinster intent on circumcising every man's right to gain from the Earth!

Sven heard the warning alerting him that he could move about freely again, and so he unbuckled his belt and went for a short stroll. The news about the gold find made him restless. As he walked, he noticed he was unsteady on his feet. He counted them up in his head and realized he had already drunk four glasses of Champagne.

He decided to refresh himself by splashing water on his face. He entered a washroom, turned on the cold tap, cupped his hands to receive as much water as he could hold, and then threw the water vigorously onto his face.

He then relieved himself and, as he looked down at the stainless steel toilet bowl, Sven recalled that the General had referred to Nazca as a 'third world toilet'. Indeed, as Sven washed his hands, he wondered if he should limit his expectations to hoping for potable running water in that hellhole.

When he returned to his seat, flight attendant Frumpy offered him a refill, which Sven accepted. Although another drink would be excessive, Sven rationalized that it might be the last decent drink he would enjoy for three weeks. He finished the Champagne and then slept off its effects for the duration of the flight.

### Chapter 12: Out for a meal – Aurica – continued

Anton and Ruth arrived at Natalia's small school; easily found parking; and headed through the double front doors. Inside, they could hear the squeaking of rubber soles on the floor ahead. Following this sound led them directly to the gymnasium.

Before they entered the gym, Lady Ruth donned her dark and wide-eyed sunglasses, and tied a kerchief around her head. As a media celebrity, she desired to remain inconspicuous. The kerchief was a colour that clashed with her overcoat and made her look like a fashion bumpkin. The glasses were unfashionable by anyone's standards. They resembled something the 1970s pop star Elton John would have rejected or Lady Gaga would abhor; thus, they served a double purpose. Firstly, their size concealed her face and secondly, their unattractiveness caused people to keep turned away. Ruth, the media darling, knew how to blend into a crowd.

On the other hand, there was Anton. He appeared to be a fashion reject from several different decades. He sported a pair of Buddy Holly styled '50s glasses that drew attention to his face and a skinny '80s tie made of white leather over a black silk shirt. No one would ever guess that he was an MIT graduate of the highest distinction in Biology, Chemistry, and Physics. Instead, he resembled someone who had to wear unattractive clothing because of losing a bet. It would be hard for anyone with a decent fashion sense not to look at Anton and keep a straight face.

As all the players stopped to stare at the two latecomers, Natalia was certain all eyes were on her weirdo father. Then she noticed the bag lady accompanying him and felt embarrassed that people might mistake her for Natalia's mother. Natalia had never before seen this walking fashion disaster. _Being the new kid at school is bad enough – how could he do this to me?_

Natalia was serving the volleyball from the west side of the gym towards the east when they entered. In an instant, she changed her service technique from a typically non-aggressive underhand style, to that of an overhand-smash style. She promptly served the ball with such vigour that all players on both sides recognized that she in no way intended for the ball to stay in play. They realized she was aiming it at the two freaks that had just entered the gym.

Anton's head absorbed the full force of the errant serve. He tumbled to the ground accordingly in keeping with the laws of physics. In turn, he bumped his head on the ground, which caused a mild chemical reaction that made him feel sleepy. No one needed a biology degree to know that he was out cold.

After she served, Natalia cheerfully called out, "Hi, father!" When he fell to the ground, Natalia ingenuously stated, "Oops – Sorry!" While the players moved in to examine the carnage, Natalia shrugged her shoulders, and innocently added, "It must've got away from me!"

In her excited state, Ruth's British accent became obvious, as she authoritatively exclaimed, "All right, girls; I have First Aid training – let me handle this!"

"Hey," said Natalia, "you're that aristocrat English woman . . . Lady . . . something or another. . . . What are you doing here?"

Shocked that a child had easily identified her so quickly, Ruth opted for theatrical denial, and began, "What? No, I'm certainly not . . . uh . . . well, I was accompanying Dr. Yakushev to see . . ."

Ruth paused when she realized the girl that just identified her might have just identified herself too. Ruth asked, "Excuse me, but did you just say 'hi _father_ '?"

"Uh huh," answered Natalia. Proudly she continued, "That's my dad lying on the floor there. Don't worry though; the teacher has some smelling salts – those'll wake him up!"

"You must be Natalia then," suggested Lady Ruth, as she watched the gym teacher bending over Anton, presumably with the smelling salts.

Natalia explained, "Yeah, but we're in the middle of a game and I'd better get back to it." Then she pointed to him on the ground and nonchalantly added, "See, father is coming around. You guys can sit up on the stage out of harm's way!"

Anton recovered sufficiently for Lady Ruth to escort him to one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs on the stage. A handful of other spectators already sat in chairs. One of them gave Lady Ruth a suspicious glance, but Ruth coughed and discreetly pushed the ugly spectacles further up the bridge of her nose.

"Anton," began Ruth, lowering her voice in disguise. "My intuition is rarely wrong but after what just happened, I am prepared to admit that coming here was perhaps not such a good idea."

As he rubbed his forehead, Anton reasoned, "I suppose it is too late to change our minds now."

They settled in to watch the match, which played out evenly and without further incident and eventually, Natalia's team lost two of three games, each of which was very close.

On the drive home, Anton thought about the result of his daughter's last game. He felt that the referee's poor judgement caused her team to lose that game. He reasoned that if he were in her place now, then he would feel frustrated.

Sympathetically, he remarked, "I thought the referee made a terrible call towards the end when the ball was actually out of bounds."

"Yeah, well," began Natalia, "volleyball is only a game, father. It's just for fun – it's not that important. I'm sure the ref tried her best."

Suspecting she was restraining her anger, Anton continued, "Still, it would bother me to lose in that way."

Curtly, Natalia commented, "I'd like to tell you to lighten up and get over it, father, but then, I'm the one who just played, lost, and got over it." He looked in his rear view at her, saw her eyes already staring at his, and then she turned to look out the window and added, "You please yourself."

A silence followed that Ruth realized only she was likely to break, and so she stated, "Natalia, your father and I would like to take you out for dinner."

Surprised to hear this, and dubious about their intentions, Natalia needed a moment to assess intention. Using her best delaying tactic, with false curiosity, Natalia slowly asked, "Lady . . . Clarkson-Smith . . . is it?"

"Close," replied Ruth. Then she added, "Actually the second name is 'Smythe'."

Sensing this stuffy Englishwoman was being pathetically polite, Natalia begged off, explaining, "If you and father have plans, they don't have to include me. I can have my shower and then whip up a box of macaroni and cheese. If I want to jazz it up, I can add some grated cheddar instead of extra salt, or . . ."

Angered by her indifference, Anton interrupted, "Natalia; Lady Ruth has politely and considerately included you in our plans for the evening. She was to meet solely with me for important business purposes that would be of no interest to you, I'm sure; however . . ."

Not having actually tried to piss off her father, Natalia tried honesty, and, interrupting in turn, remarked, "Maybe your business fascinates me, father." After a pause, she continued, "So, sure . . . I'd love to join in on the meal." After a beat, she added, "So, sorry if I seemed rude, Lady Clarkson-Smythe."

"That's alright, Natalia," began Ruth, sincerely. Then she politely requested, "Please address me as Ruth."

Warily, Natalia reasoned, "Well, I don't know about that – father'll probably give me shit if I don't address you the way he does."

Suddenly turning to face her in the back, with a pointed finger from the driver's seat, Anton exclaimed, "Natalia – language!"

Pointing back at him, Natalia retorted, "Father, you'll miss the driveway turn off!"

Anton turned to refocus on his driving and responded, "Right!"

With the timing of Groucho, Ruth quipped, "I thought it was a left."

Genuinely laughing, Natalia commented, "That's pretty funny, Ruth."

"I produced a laugh out of you anyways," replied Ruth cannily.

"I think that's my first one since I came to this giant, frozen, farmer's cow pie field, Ruth," replied Natalia, and then they both laughed. Anton glanced over at Ruth in wonder: she had connected with Natalia more easily in 20 minutes, than he ever had in days.

After Natalia showered and Ruth freshened up, the three discussed dinner plans. Anton knew only of two local pizza outlets. Natalia offered that either one would be acceptable to her; however, the adults indicated a desire to upgrade. Ruth rationalized that, after Anton's earlier trauma, he at least deserved lobster. Natalia grudgingly agreed and they drove into the larger of the two nearby cities.

During dinner, Ruth noticed that conversation slowly became awkward. After Anton excused himself for the washroom and was out of sight, Natalia quickly turned to Ruth and asked, "Why did you ask him to come to my volleyball game?"

Defensively, Ruth replied, " _Me_ ask? Why do you think I asked him?"

Using logic, Natalia explained, "Well, I think the answer is simple, Ruth. First of all, my father rarely ventures away from his lab. I am sure too, that he has no interest in volleyball." She paused and then, in a mock imitation of her father, Natalia added, "Curiously though, there is another unique variable to today's different equation."

Maintaining politeness, Ruth inquired, "And that is?"

Challenging her, Natalia declared, "I'm staring at the unique variable as I look at you, Ruth."

Impressed, Ruth admitted, "Ah yes, you processed that thought well, Natalia. You are, of course, correct." Concerned about the aggressive style that Natalia chose to take in determining this, however, caused Ruth inadvertently to stall. She began, "Only . . ."

Natalia decided that Ruth was about to patronize her, and wanted no part of an artificial conversation. She interrupted, "Only, my father told you all about what a rotten person I am and you were either curious to see for yourself, or you really are the philanthropist the media portrays you as . . . usually . . ."

Ruth sat for a brief moment in uncomfortable silence. This youth had not only thought things through with reasonable accuracy but at a speed that would have made a professional analyst envious. Deciding to give Natalia credit for probably inheriting her father's high intelligence, Ruth nevertheless understood that Natalia was wrong about her negative assumption about Ruth's motives.

Ruth reasoned that while she could credit Natalia with the intelligence to make clever statements; regardless, the pre-teen lacked the tact that emerges with wisdom. If Natalia was a genius, she was still an angry child who Ruth recognized could use a lesson in manners.

While Natalia sat awaiting a response, she sported a cheekily confident look on her face. Ruth decided to return the youth's candour, and began, "I'll be frank with you for two reasons; firstly, because you seem to be demanding it and so 'why not', and secondly, because your father should return shortly . . ."

Impatient, Natalia interrupted, "What's he got to do with it?"

Candidly, Ruth quickly stated, "Natalia, you seem disinterested in conversation – almost aloof – when your father is in our mutual presence. On the other hand, once we are alone, you are verbose and inquisitive." Then, firmly, but logical, Ruth inquired, "Can you see how these two postures are almost precise opposites?"

Not expecting Ruth to have cracked her disposition that quickly, Natalia offered a bitter comeback, asking, "So?"

Surprised the youth had followed such a long opening remark with only short ones since, Ruth repeated, "So?" Then she challenged Natalia, plainly stating, "I think you have a better response than that, Natalia; however, since that is all you have offered, then it is my turn to play the analyst's role." Counting on her fingers as she continued, Ruth complained, "You deliberately smashed the ball into your father's head; rudely dismissed him in conversation; and now seem determined to conspire against him in his absence."

Natalia was regretting not having insisted on dining alone after all, and repeated, "So?"

Remaining levelheaded, Ruth continued, "So, I would say you have a lot of anger against him, yet I cannot determine the reason for it. Did he do something to incur your wrath or is it just your disposition that causes you to be insufferably disagreeable?"

Natalia paused. She realized that Ruth might understand her better than she did herself, but since Natalia had not actually tried to analyze her own feelings lately, in frustration, she indifferently uttered, "Whatever – pick one!"

Using a vocal tone about which Natalia felt uncertain, Ruth quickly remarked, "Well, during the time I have known your father, I have found him to have an entirely pleasant disposition; therefore, I would guess that the problem lies more with you."

While Natalia tried to remember the difference between a conclusive remark, and a concluding one, she noticed Ruth detecting that her father was returning to the table. She followed suit, and saw that he was about 40 feet away, but closing fast.

Smiling in Anton's direction, Ruth very quickly added, "I see that you too have spotted your father returning. Perhaps stopping here is for the best. I expect you'll choose to revert to your sullen disposition in a few seconds. Perhaps we can continue this conversation after you've had some time to think."

About three seconds later, Anton sat down, and began, "Now then, what have you two been talking about since I left?" When neither responded quickly enough for his liking, Anton politely inquired, "Nothing serious, I hope?"

As she heard the word _serious_ , Natalia was sipping her milk and she began to laugh. This combination caused her to snort milk across the table directly onto her father's sleeve.

"No – nothing serious," stated Natalia, trying to recover from the snort.

Shrugging her shoulders, Ruth blithely declared, "Bad timing, Dr. Yakushev – what a rotten bit of luck!" She turned, winked at Natalia, turned back to Anton, who had missed her wink, and advisedly stated, "But never you mind – a splash of soda water will remove the stain in an instant!"

With praise that she didn't think she had for an adult, Natalia commented, "Thanks, Lady Ruth; you're a life saver!" Then, with an uncharacteristic child-like tone, Natalia asked, "Dad, can we keep her around for a while?"

As Ruth dabbed his sleeve, Anton distractedly asked, "What, Natalia?" Then it dawned on him what she had asked, and so, mildly reproachful, he responded, "But of course not. This is Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe, the philanthropist. She is on five different boards of business."

Still dabbing, Ruth demurely interrupted, "Six now actually, Anton."

Genuinely surprised, Anton repeated, "Six now? Oh sorry, I had not heard." Then, apologetic, he added, "I suppose I have been busy with my work."

Immediately, Natalia interjected, "Tell me about it!" Then she hit her forehead like Homer Simpson, and added, "Doh!"

In the next moment, they all laughed at the same thing at the same time. In the next, each one realized that this had never happened before – it was an unpredicted miracle.

As Ruth and Anton discussed the merits of the lobster dinner, Natalia thought about her earlier short discussion with Ruth. She had never had a conversation like that with her mother; she could not imagine having that kind of talk with her father, either. Her parents were there to scold her but not to understand her. Natalia realized that she needed a friend. She decided that Ruth would make a good friend.

During a pause in the conversation, Natalia stated, "Seriously though, dad, we should kidnap her if we have to. She's fun and . . ."

With unexpected timing, Anton interjected, "I'm not?"

His accidental comic timing caused Ruth to follow Natalia's previous lead except that her fluid of choice was wine: Ruth snorted a shot of Chardonnay onto Anton's sleeve.

Recovering, and echoing her earlier remarks, Ruth stated, "Sorry, Anton! Rotten bit of luck, but soda works on white wine, too!" After Ruth's comment, they all produced a second wave of spontaneous laughter.

Eventually, Anton suggested, "Well okay, Natalia, we'll kidnap her for the evening." Then he looked at his daughter and asked, "How's that?"

Pleased, Natalia replied, "An excellent start, dad!"

After she said 'dad' for the third time in approximately one minute, Anton realized he could not remember when she had last referred to him that way. He wondered if it was a sign of progress.

Eventually, they returned to Aurica whereupon the normally energized Natalia succumbed to tiredness shortly after entering the farmhouse. Although she expressed an interest in continuing to 'party' with the adults, she soon blamed her yawning on her earlier substantial physical exercise, said goodnight, cleaned her teeth, and then went to bed. Once Natalia had departed, Lady Ruth and Anton sat in his spartan living room and enjoyed a glass of sherry.

About 20 minutes later, after agreeing that the evening had turned out successfully, Anton broached the topic of their intended meeting. Ruth yawned, and responded, "I'm sorry, Anton, but I suspect I am too tired to pay proper attention to . . . what was it? A video presentation? Perhaps we could watch it in the morning."

Somewhat disappointed, Anton remarked, "Very well, Ruth."

Sensing she had rather let him down, Ruth encouragingly added, "I will say in advance that I am fully prepared to continue sponsoring your very important work for a mutually agreed upon period of time."

"Well, thank you, Lady Ruth, but . . ."

Laughing, she interrupted, "But only if you stop calling me 'Lady' when we are not in mixed company."

"Yes, certainly, Ruth, but did you not tell me that you had a meeting in Toronto mid-morning tomorrow?"

Ruth admitted, "Oh yes, of course; I had quite forgotten!" She thought for a moment, and then continued, "Perhaps we'll have to postpone your video presentation for another day. It may take a while because I feel I am about to become very busy with this recent board appointment. I may become preoccupied with my work for the next few months." Finally, she knowingly added, "I know you can understand that!"

"But, of course," responded Anton, perfunctorily, and then he inquired, "Who, may I ask, are you involved with now?"

"A gold mining company called Malevcon. Have you heard of them?"

"No."

"They have a mine near a UNESCO Heritage site in Peru, and they are seeking to expand their operation. I am involved in assuring they do not compromise the Heritage site in any way."

Demonstrating his knowledge of the area, Anton remarked, "I did not know the government allowed mining near Machu Picchu."

"No," began Ruth, "it is not that site. Malevcon is drilling near Nazca."

"Ah, but of course; that place," began Anton, with a sigh. With a mildly ironic tone, he added, "The home of the drawings in the ground."

Perplexed by his tone, Ruth said, "Yes, that place. Did I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice?"

With certain weariness, Anton admitted, "Ruth, I am a scientist. I may be working on theoretical ideas, but when I think of Nazca, I recall the author of that fantasy book – _The Chariot of the Gods_ – and I say to myself 'people think _I_ am crazy'?"

Ruth did not feel that she sponsored crazy people and accordingly interjected, " _Not_ crazy."

With his hands held out defensively, Anton responded, "I am sorry, Ruth; I know I should keep an open mind."

Ruth reasoned, "Well, I am sure most of us agree that there are no such things as little green men from outer space who visited Earth thousands of years ago."

With a deadpan expression, Anton quickly commented, "I believe they were not little."

Ruth's jaw dropped, and she remarked, "Anton; you _do_ have a sense of humour!"

He confessed, "Only where it concerns science, I'm afraid."

Ruth reasoned, "That comment is funny in itself . . . or maybe it is just sad."

Thoughtfully, Anton added, "The latter, I am sure."

Ruth yawned, and both took it for a sign that her night was ending. As she rose from her chair, Anton sincerely concluded, "For the record, I do care that the site is not strip mined."

"Thank you, Anton," replied Ruth.

They left his living room, Anton showed Ruth to her room, and then he went to his. Meanwhile, remembering that Anton had previously described the room as spartan, Ruth gave it a quick visual examination, and decided that, like the rest of this house, it needed a woman's touch.

### Chapter 13: School Christmas party – Aurica – December 22

In the school gym, Joe hovered around the bowl of cinnamon-spiced punch and tried to pretend it was the cool spot to be. Faking being into the dance groove, Joe noticed that two other guys appeared to be muscling in on his turf. One guy was as white as the snow piling up outside, the other appeared to be Asian. Joe decided the threesome represented a sort of multi-cultural club for lonely guys.

Possibly making it lonelier, the other two guys acknowledged neither him nor each other. Each was his own grooving nation, which did not recognize other outsiders. First Nation Joe upgraded his assessment to conclude that the three more resembled a United Nations assembly.

Worsening the situation was the cinnamon. To say it was Joe's favourite spice, was to say he also liked being pepper-sprayed or getting a finger in the eye – or losing a big front tooth. He was a homely, lonely, thirsty guy . . . who didn't dance, but was at a dance.

His situation perfect in the most negative way, Joe didn't really care. He was new and easily forgave himself for not knowing anyone by more than their first name yet.

Lifting him out of the cellar for newbies, earlier this week a new kid joined his class. She was the new 'new kid' so the attention was off him and on her: she would now be the one feeling classmate's staring eyes.

On the other hand, he reasoned she would pass by him quickly. She was a white-skinned and blond-haired girl so she fit into the colour dynamic of the school seamlessly. Additionally, he could tell she had a strong, outgoing – even fearless personality: she would be popular very quickly.

Hidden from everyone's sight though, was that Joe had already realized the feelings he had for her, other kids called a crush. He stole a hopeless glance at her as he poured punch into a paper cup. He suddenly felt his hand was wet and noticed that he had poured a portion of the punch on it while he was looking at her. The punch was also dripping on the table.

That will command her attention! Very smooth, Painted Sun!

He placed a Santa-embossed napkin on the sticky spill zone and thought about ways to avoid embarrassment. Inexperienced in spill zone affairs, he suddenly thought of his twin foster sisters – they were very experienced in such affairs. _What would the twins do?_

Then he thought of a technique they had taught him just the other day. They had taught him what Joe had later labelled, 'out-gassing strategies and protocol'. Comparing his current situation to that of being the perpetrator in a fart zone, Joe casually moved away from the area.

The girls had explained that the perpetrator must discreetly distance his or herself from the zone as quickly as possible. Comfortable again after strategically leaning against a wall, Joe was grateful of having learned this bit of reputation-saving etiquette. Pleased with his quick thinking solution, Joe concluded that within a few seconds, no one could be certain who had spilled the punch.

He thought about the twins as the songs changed and most of the dancers just kept on dancing. Joe recalled having some difficulty adjusting to the MacDougall girls because they had no interests similar to his own. He arrived shortly after Halloween and the seven-year-old twins were still in withdrawal although not from the depletion of candy like most kids their age. These girls were in 'dress-up' withdrawal.

The twins spent most of November requesting that Joe assist them in dressing up to play 'Halloween'. Eventually, they asked him to join them in their sessions. He wanted to fit into his new family so Joe reluctantly complied every time. However, he stopped doing this after they went too far. The last time they dressed him up they took pictures of him. Later they showed him the uploaded pictures on their Facebook page. _Ouch!_

While their mother made them remove the photographs, nevertheless, Joe knew the damage was irreparable. Now people would say that he was an Indian foster kid _cross-dressing_ loser. He was pushing freak to a new level.

His mind returned to the dance floor where the girl was blissfully floating about it as if she were the only one there. Occasionally she bumped someone; apologized to him or her with a winning smile; and then continued on her way. He admired her even more for her carefree confidence. If only Joe had that kind of courage.

He concluded that since he lacked courage, his social calendar would consist of spending occasional evenings through the remainder of the winter babysitting his 4-year-old foster brother. When the McDougalls took the twins to ballet class twice weekly, they required Joe to sit for young James.

Joe didn't mind. The kid was super friendly. He loved to play sports and so did Joe. Helping matters, James never teased Joe about how uncoordinated he was.

Joe recognized that babysitting was a position of trust and that if adults trusted him, then they were acknowledging him as a responsible teen. Joe, however, wanted to spend more time with people his own age – male or female. He would be very happy if that person were the dancing blonde girl.

Then he heard a song that was a big hit last year. He thought about where his mind was at with girls a year ago and recalled that he was disinterested in them. When he looked around the room, he realized almost all of the females in his class were interesting to him now: what a difference a year had made.

He wondered if this was what he should call 'progress'. He thought about the word progress, and that he first dreamt about girls at night, but now did so by day too. Girls were even causing Joe to lose focus on the school subjects he was best at – math, science, and music. _Some progress!_

The song's chorus blasted and Joe decided he was stupid to call himself a music fan and yet remain standing on the sideline while others danced. He decided to spice up his blood with a helping of the revolting punch – _what doesn't kill me makes me stronger!_

Suavely like Bond, he poured it in the cup spilling nothing; quickly gulped it down ignoring the burn; and then shuffled onto the dance floor. He was at last willing to expose his tarnished reputation to more ridicule in exchange for the girl noticing him.

### Chapter 14: _Mantis Religiosa_ – Yucatan, Mexico – Christmas Day

Mantis had time before her assignment to savour the warmth of the midday on Cancun Island. She activated her wristband, which told her the air temperature was 31° C. She decided this would be a pleasant place to visit during the winter months, although she would probably avoid it at Christmas time. It was such a busy time of year everywhere. It was certainly not conducive to her being able to work efficiently.

She pressed a tiny button on her specialized timepiece; raised her arm into the air; and then returned the arm to a position that allowed her to read the timepiece. It read '5 MPH' and this brought an approving smile to her face as she said, "Perfect!" From this height, the long distance to her mark pushed even an ace like Mantis to her skill threshold: a slow wind speed was critical to her success formula.

Although Mantis knew she was probably farther away today than she had ever been from any previous target; nevertheless, this did not worry her because she brought a .338 Lapua Magnum sniper rifle with her. She was certain it was overkill to use such a powerful long-ranged weapon; however, she also knew that an excessive wind speed could cause any bullet to miss from this distance.

She had considered other options for completing the job, but none was as efficient and safe as this one. She knew from a previous hit on a Columbian drug lord that their sort was notorious for personal security. They had more armed guards than politicians routinely did – she could not hope to assassinate a drug lord from a close distance.

Even worse was the fact that their bodyguards were criminals used to firing their weapons indiscriminately. Mantis reasoned that after she killed her target today, his guards would open fire regardless of their not seeing a target to shoot at. They were undisciplined 'loose cannons'. This randomness was a concern because stray bullets had to hit something. She worried that particular something could be her one day.

Mantis minimized that threat today by utilizing her Lapua: she was out of the range of most guns and far too high up for anyone to detect her presence. By the time anyone with a gun noticed the hit, Mantis would probably be out of sight.

She always scouted the kill zone in advance to ascertain positioning, normal movement patterns, and staff numbers. In addition, she always double-checked her expectation just prior to the kill – this could be especially important on Christmas Day.

To facilitate this process, she used her high-powered telescope to scout the tertiary and quaternary sectors of 'El Sadistic's' mobile empire to confirm the location of his peripheral staff. Satisfied that everything looked normal in the kill zone, Mantis proceeded to her next routine.

She considered certain routines critical to work success, but knew that her next one was more of a personal superstition. She always examined the photo of her target one last time to refresh her memory, even though she knew by this point in the process, what the target looked like.

She also liked to read the bio one last time. The bio usually revealed the target to be an unpleasant human, and rereading that tended to inspire Mantis.

She tipped the contents of her manila envelope onto the rooftop carefully; examined the picture of Juan 'El Sadistic' Chavez; and then read in his bio that local authorities identified him as Mexico's third most notorious drug lord. She read that her target today was a sadist who enjoyed killing those who crossed him with lethal injections of the base materials used to make his drugs. This explained how he received his nickname, 'El Sadistic'.

Mantis returned the documents to the envelope and then used her telescopic lens to view the sprawling patio and pool area below. She spied her target and then heard her preset warning beep on her wristband: it was time to assemble her rifle.

First, she slipped on her khaki goat-kid gloves: they were her favourite pair and perfectly matched her designer capris. Then she applied some Murphy's Oil soap to the rifle butt. She loved its lemon fresh scent in the morning. It smelled like success. Next, she assembled the rifle with the precision of a robotic unit on a car manufacturing line. She wondered for a moment if she could assemble it with her eyes closed, but stopped because it broke from her routine.

After she pieced together the rifle, Mantis glanced at her wristband for the actual time. It was 11:53. She had seven minutes to wait and he had that many to live. She thought about shooting him early, but decided to wait until the agreed upon exact time. She respected that in the absence of any problems, she should be precise regarding timing. She reminded herself that several years ago as a rookie assassin, she hit a target a day early and had a difficult time subsequently collecting her pay because her employer remained convinced for a whole week that another assassin had 'beaten her to it'!

At 12 noon, when her wristband beeped a second time, she squeezed the trigger of the .338 Lapua Magnum sniper rifle. The trigger action reminded her of using the controller of her nephew's gaming system. She always let him win the shooting-type games they played: no point in arousing suspicion.

As she felt the custom-made, ballistic tip bullet leave the chamber, she imagined she rather resembled a howitzer aimed at a duck. It would be very messy down below, but the hotel staff would have to clean up, not her.

She heard a female scream, and was mildly curious as she disassembled her rifle with the same precision she had put it together. Apparently, somebody down there cared enough to cry for El Sadistic. Perhaps instead, the female was crying over a lost meal ticket. _Whatever . . . get over it . . . it's a brand new day!_

As she put the last rifle piece back in its case, the process suddenly reminded her of her mother's Christmas tree: you take it out once in a while; assemble it; admire and use it; and then you return it neatly to its case! Mantis always lamented the next part of her routine because, unlike the Christmas tree that her mother kept until the next year, Mantis had to rid herself of the murder weapon.

Even though her gloves protected her from leaving fingerprint evidence, nevertheless current ballistics technology could easily link the weapon to its possessor. She dropped the rifle case into a rooftop air conditioning vent; left the rooftop quickly; and then hailed a taxi to the airport. Whenever possible, Mantis immediately flew away from the kill zone.

A few hours later in her Mexico City hotel room, as she enjoyed the liquorice flavour of a _Pernod_ liqueur, Mantis climbed into her hot-tub-for-one and watched a televised local bullfight. She doubted it was live given today was Christmas. As she contemplated whether to root for the bull or the torero, Mantis thought about how glad she was that today's target holidayed in sunny Cancun. She found Mexico City's air polluted – it was terrible for her skin.

After the bullfight ended, she switched channels and found a Clint Eastwood movie. She watched ' _Unforgiven_ ' from start to finish. She especially enjoyed when Clint's character said, "We all got it comin' to us kid."

Suddenly her special cell phone rang, and she knew instantly who was calling.

" _Mantis Religiosa_ this is _Panthera Tigris_ ," said the familiar voice, with the Eastern European accent. "The media reports confirm your success and news of it reached my ears moments ago. Congratulations, Mantis. I have another client for you. The request is sadly unavoidable but required . . . at your convenience . . . _Mantis Religiosa._ "

She sensed her employer enjoyed this spy-like exchange. Even though the phone line was entirely secure, nevertheless he enjoyed dialogue that made him sound like a James Bond villain.

Playing along, she asked, "Maximum allowable time until completion?"

"Comfortably before March 2nd."

"Location?"

"Toronto."

"In Canada?"

"Problem?"

"No. There's a first time for everything."

"Indeed."

"Offer?"

"$200,000."

"Expenses?"

"Paid fully."

"That's fairly high – political?"

"No, but high-profile."

"Special conditions?"

"Accidental, if possible, but your choice ultimately."

"Agreed in principle – will negotiate final price after identification," explained Mantis, and then she ended the call. She climbed out of the hot tub; reached for her complimentary hotel robe; and then gracefully slipped into it. After drying off, she painted her nails a shade of blood red – no, it was Christmas red, she decided – and added small green triangles which perfectly resembled Christmas trees. Mantis had a passion for nail art.

### Chapter 15: A birthday party – Aurica – January 7

Anton thought back to three weeks ago when Lady Ruth last visited him. On the morning before she left, she had encouraged him to take more interest in Natalia's activities. Ruth had explained to him that Natalia would feel loneliness during the holidays. She was in a new place and had few, if any, friends. Her mother had forced her to reunite with a father she barely knew. To have one lonely experience on the special festive day would be difficult, but to have a second a week later, would be depressing: Natalia's birthday followed Christmas by thirteen days.

Ruth had suggested Anton throw his daughter a birthday party even if there would be few guests. She would add herself to the guest list in order to flesh it out somewhat. Anton recalled graciously thanking her for her advice and willingness to participate. There really were no other guests on the list. Even though his ex-wife's parents also lived in Ontario, Anton had had no contact with them since the separation. When he asked Natalia if he should invite them, she informed him that she had not seen or spoken to them for over three years.

As Anton turned the corner and walked into his farmhouse living room, he was shocked to see the room covered in festive and birthday decorations. It seemed excessive to him, however, he had little with which to compare it. The last time he attended Natalia's birthday party she was 5 years old and her mother did all the decorating. He could vaguely remember conical-shaped headgear and helium-filled balloons in multiple pastel shades.

He recalled that initially, based on Ruth's advice, he had offered to decorate for the party. Natalia had encouraged him, however, to withdraw his offer. She had said, "You'll probably screw it up, dad," and after briefly ruminating over her comment, he had agreed with her.

Now however, as he looked at the room, he felt a tinge of guilt: he should have done something! He had allowed his now 13-year-old daughter to decorate all by herself. As he thought about Lady Ruth's imminent arrival, Anton worried that Ruth might inadvertently discover that he had not helped his daughter and then would scold him for neglecting his parental duties.

His guilt compelled Anton to announce, "You've done a magnificent job, Natalia, with the decorations. The living room looks both celebratory and festive!"

Smiling and shrugging her shoulders, Natalia remarked, "I'm glad you like it, dad. I never did this before. I think mom would have been too uptight about cleaning it all up afterwards!"

Diplomatically, he replied, "Well, I recall your mother had high standards for tidiness!"

Bluntly, Natalia questioned, "You mean she's an anal neat freak?" She smiled again, then encouragingly added, "It's okay; you can say it!"

"Uh, well – no point now, really . . ."

Blithely interrupting him, Natalia continued, "Anyways, dad, I like that you are laid back about this sort of thing and I appreciate that you don't hound me over the simplest of things like she did."

As she tied up a bunch of balloons, the surprised Anton stated, "Oh, well, uh . . . thank you!" Natalia had not previously revealed any sort of evaluation of his parental abilities, outside of knocking him unconscious with a volleyball. Her comments suggested to Anton that things had improved immensely.

Teasingly, she asked, "So . . . do you have a surprise gift for me? Did you get me concert tickets or am I going to a lacrosse game?" She knew he had no idea about her interests. He had probably bought her a gift card from Wal-Mart.

Enthusiastically, Anton began, "Actually, I do have a good . . ." He stopped when car headlights washed across the living room and distracted both of them.

Natalia called out, "Looks like Lady Ruth made it on time!"

They both went to the front door to greet Ruth who offered Natalia birthday greetings with a friendly peck on both cheeks. Then Anton offered his hand to shake as usual, but was stunned when Ruth hugged him.

After an awkward pause, he ushered Ruth into the decorated living room. She gasped when she saw the improvement. The room appeared warm and lived-in rather than in its usual neglected state.

As Anton saw her reaction, he thought back to when they had first planned this party. Ruth had suggested to him that, in addition to a typical teen birthday party, he should also plan a celebration of his Ukrainian heritage: January 7 was Christmas Day in the Ukraine.

Anton asked, "Who wants a drink?"

"Ooo – sounds delightful," answered Ruth. "Something traditional, please."

"I'll have an eggnog, dad," requested Natalia, with a smile.

As Anton rose to depart, Natalia began explaining to Ruth the motivations behind her decorative touches. He could hear them happily chattering away behind him as he exited.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw the table setting and noted how traditional it looked. Seeing this, Anton suddenly found himself travelling back in his mind to the last time he had celebrated an actual traditional Christmas meal and concluded that it was in 1985 when he still lived in the Soviet Union with both his parents. He realized that in fact, he was 13 then, the same age his daughter turned today. His memories grew bittersweet quickly however, because they predated the nuclear accident. It was a fond memory, but a memory of an event that had preceded tragedy.

As he walked towards the fridge door, he stopped and pulled out his wallet. He read his laminated birth certificate: 'Chernobyl, Union of Soviet Socialist Republic, 1972'. It occurred to him that no one on Earth could produce such a certificate dated after 1986. This was not because the USSR disbanded in 1990; it was because the area became a toxic wasteland after the nuclear accident there.

The accident made living anywhere within a hundred miles of Chernobyl prohibitive; thus, the government evacuated the area immediately after the disaster. The last time he saw any pictures of the place was in a recent _National Geographic_ article. It spoke of 'nuclear half-life being 50+ years'. Anton understood this term better than almost anyone alive did: 'half-life' was a euphemism for 'total-death'.

Ambient radiation from the blast eventually caused both his parents to die of cancer along with thousands of others. The wind became death back then. It recognized no borders. Wherever it blew, it spread the toxins. When his father succumbed to cancer in 1989, three years after his mother had, Anton knew when he left Russia thereafter, that his return was unlikely: he had neither home nor family to return to in the Ukraine.

Even now, he felt certain that Chernobyl would be neither a birth place, nor a home to humans during his remaining lifetime, and Anton would be one of a dwindling number of people who would ever see 'Chernobyl' written on a birth certificate. The idea was absurd. _More likelihood of finding a one-legged albino gorilla wearing a poncho than a Chernobyl-born live person._

Suddenly, he heard his daughter snorting with laughter in the next room and he turned to face his refrigerator. He needed to pour the drinks. He poured eggnog into a tumbler and then two freezer-chilled vodkas into shot glasses – the latter a traditional toast for himself and his traveller. Before he moved a step, however, he quickly downed one vodka shot. He told himself he was a royal tester but knew his memories were the cause.

He refilled his glass, and while doing so, the curious scientist in him emerged, demanding he smell Natalia's chosen beverage. His scientific interest diminished quickly when he formed a one-word conclusion about the drink: vile!

It was hardly a Ukrainian tradition to drink eggnog, but he reminded himself that she liked the concoction. He needed to understand his daughter better. He resolved to keep his eggnog thoughts to himself.

He drank his second shot of vodka very quickly; felt the warmth of a tear enter the small glass as he did so; and then refilled it again. He found a small silver tray on the kitchen counter that he was sure he had never seen before; piled the drinks onto it; and then strode forth into the celebratory living room zone.

Natalia teased him, asking, "Dad, where did you go for our drinks, frickin' Chicago?" Then, turning to Ruth, Natalia added, "Ruth says you two have a surprise offer to make me for my birthday – I can't wait to hear about it!"

Turning his face away to hide his freshly wiped eyes, Anton weakly replied, "Ah . . . sorry Natalia, I was just . . . daydreaming."

In a teasing fashion also, as she took her glass, Ruth stated, "Ah, Anton, I see your tastes in alcohol run as leanly as your tastes in home decoration – the present amendment aside of course!"

"Well stated, Ruth. I could not agree more even if I might prefer not to!"

After she sipped the chilled shot glass and let out a small gasp due to its strength, Ruth remarked, "Just teasing!"

Genuinely, Natalia remarked, "I could brew you a tea to drop it into if you prefer, Lady Ruth!"

Having never previously imagined the combination, Ruth questioned, "Tea and vodka?"

As he touched Ruth's glass with his own in a toast, Anton smiled and said, "Together at last!"

"Thank you, Natalia, but I will stumble forth unaided," replied Ruth, winking at them both.

Enthusiastically, Natalia demanded, "What's the secret gift you two have then?"

Ruth replied, "Ah yes, would you like to suggest it to her, Dr. Yakushev, or shall I?"

Anton reasoned, "As it was your initial suggestion, I insist you take credit!"

Ruth suspected him of parental-filial uncertainty. She thought he might prefer a non-relative to make the suggestion in case Natalia's reaction was poor. Ruth suspected that Anton thought Natalia would at least be polite to her.

As if she had rehearsed it, Ruth asked, "Natalia, I wonder if you would enjoy a membership to the Shen Lung Karate Club in a place called 'Escape to Estates'." Then, because in her opinion 'rural' and 'suburb' made little sense juxtaposed, Ruth cautiously added, "I understand Escape to Estates is a nearby so-called 'rural-suburb'."

Natalia stopped to consider this for a moment and Ruth noticed that Anton appeared to brace himself for an assault; however, Natalia exclaimed, "Excellent!"

Bringing her hands together in a silent clap, Ruth delightedly declared, "I thought you might!"

Enthusiastically, Natalia asked, "Do I get to wear the outfit too?"

Entirely unfamiliar with such an institution, Anton answered, "I suppose there would be an appropriate . . . costume or . . . uniform, Natalia,"

Quickly, Natalia declared, "Cool!" Then she began moving and continued, "I accept!" Natalia resembled an Olympic long jumper as she seemingly bounced out of the living room towards the kitchen in one manoeuvre, saying, "Let's eat!"

Once they were all in the kitchen, Anton dutifully refilled the adult beverages and was mildly surprised that Ruth accepted a second chilled vodka shot with a smile. He refilled Natalia's empty glass with more eggnog, as Ruth surveyed the kitchen table.

As she scrutinized, Ruth questioned, "Now then, what have we here? This looks like the table setting for a traditional Ukrainian 12-dish evening supper. Is this dumpling filled with appropriate ingredients like sauerkraut, mushroom and poppy seed?"

Diplomatically, Anton replied, "Well, Natalia lacked confidence in her ability to consume any of those ingredients, and so we compromised; these are Polish pierogis . . . with cheddar!"

With equivalent tact, Ruth responded, "Ah! Well, of course, those flavourful ingredients take a bit of getting used to." Then Ruth continued, "So how about the fish dish?" After a second glance of the table, Ruth declared, "My, you must have done something amazing to it, Anton, for I cannot detect it here on the table at all!" Ruth asked, "It is usually herring or carp, yes?"

Apologetic, Anton replied, "That's quite right Ruth – and even pike is used – but, again . . . Natalia had actually never eaten any of those before."

With respect, Natalia admitted, "I didn't think it was a smart move, Lady Ruth. I didn't want to be hurling it up half way through."

"But of course not," began Ruth, with a queasy smile, "most considerate of you to think of others, dear!"

Enthusiastic again, Natalia added, "But, you know, we did get some _battered_ mushrooms!" Then she explained, "I can handle them if they're breaded . . . and have a Chinese sweet and sour dipping sauce like these do!"

A tad less enthusiastically, Ruth commented, "Indeed."

Natalia continued, "And, dad told me he knew how to make this cool dessert where you add potato starch to cranberry juice and make a kind of soup."

Anton interjected, "It is called _kisiel_ in fact, Lady Ruth."

With Ruth's expectations lifted, Natalia confessed, "Yeah, but I told him it sounded like a waste of good cranberry juice. Instead we got jam-filled doughnuts for dessert, as well as my favourite kind, Bavarian crème-filled!"

Ruth repeated, "Bavarian?"

Natalia continued, "Yeah, and we do have some cranberry . . . in the stuffing!"

Echoing again, Ruth asked, "Stuffing?"

Natalia explained, "Yeah, for the turkey!"

Weakly, Ruth remarked, "Turkey . . . too?"

Sure that the spread was impressive, Natalia kept enthusiastically explaining, "Great, huh? Dad went all out. He even splurged for my favourite cheese – Swiss!"

Warily, Ruth asked, "Wasn't there something in the tradition about a Nativity _Fast_ , Anton?"

Sheepishly, Anton replied, "Yes; that is correct, Ruth."

In a good-natured reproach, Ruth asked, "No meat, dairy, or eggs?"

Before he could answer, Natalia enthusiastically interrupted, "Oh, do you like devilled eggs _too_ , Ruth? I thought I was the only one." Then she lifted a plate of the dish up, and proudly announced, "I made these ones myself!" Then she added, "I put a splash of teriyaki in with the traditional spices. They're yummy!"

While Ruth winked at Anton, a smile formed on her face, and she said, "I can imagine!" Anton let out a mild sigh and Ruth placed a commiserating hand on his shoulder, saying, "I'm sure you did your best, Anton. It all looks lovely! Let's tuck in!"

As she finished the suggestion, she sat down to eat. The others joined her and they ate heartily and made merry.

By the time the evening had ended, Anton could not recall having experienced a happier occasion for almost a decade. He made his Ukrainian New Year's resolution early: he resolved to make more friends!

### Chapter 16: Ferengson – Malevcon Mining site, Nazca, Peru – January 9

Dr. Ferengson sat in the Malevcon office at the mining site reviewing his current data. He wanted to make sure he had been thorough before contacting the General regarding a progress report. He had mostly good news to report and even the bad news was really more of an impediment to work around.

Sven hoped that when Wessel heard the bad news, he would be so intrigued as to overlook Sven's intended later purchase of one of the sites for himself. The fact that Sven planned to downplay to the General, the actual findings regarding the best of 12 sites Sven had now investigated, was a delicate matter; thus, Sven had to 'doctor' the report accordingly. _Who better to 'doctor' than a doctor?_

In rationalizing his intended plan, Sven had imagined a scenario 10 years in the future. If he were rich by then because of having purchased the _best_ of these gold mining sites for himself in the near future, while having recommended the _second_ best site to General Wessel minutes from now; then, when might the General discover Sven's mild deception? Surely it would take years before even an expert could declare with confidence that one site was better than the other was.

If this were the case, Sven would only have to worry about the wrath of General Wessel at that future date. Besides, Dr. Ferengson could yet be wrong in his prognostication and Wessel's site might be the better producer in the end.

In addition, Wessel was hardly young now: he could be dead by then, and Sven could think of no reason to fear dead men. In fact, he reasoned that if he was rich by that point, then, if necessary, he could hire protection against the wrath of a still living Wessel. Sven even considered that Wessel might instead shake his hand and offer him membership into his club of cunning capitalists.

As he sat prioritizing his report, Ferengson continued his rationalizing by noting that his good news vastly outweighed the bad and most importantly, it focused on present concerns. His news revolved around the fact that miners at this current site had continued to chip away at the largest vein lode Sven had ever encountered as a professional geologist.

This was better news than any Sven could offer regarding a potential second mining site. The General struck Dr. Ferengson as a 'live for today' sort of person. Again, Sven reminded himself that Wessel was old. _He wants what he can get now – not 10 years from now!_

As to the bad news, Sven expected that Wessel would consider it as more of a bump than a roadblock. That is, Sven would have to alert the General that although he expected the vein lode was far from its eventual ending; nevertheless, that ending was certainly not on Malevcon's current property: if Wessel wanted to dig further, then soon he would be breaking the law.

Sven had referenced a property map and discovered that in less than 200 feet beyond where they were now digging, the damned Heritage site began. That bitch, Clarkson-Smythe, had held her conference about this Nazca Lines site. It was an ironic twist and maybe she would yet be the scourge of capitalism. At any rate, the boundary problem and the bitch were General Wessel's problem – Sven was close to heading for rest and relaxation.

Sven could barely focus on prioritizing his report because thoughts of receiving his own financial reward from his completed work kept interfering. He hoped to finish before this evening; furthermore, he looked forward to celebrating with a female companion. Being celibate for the past three weeks in this hellhole had held only one advantage for Sven: he had spent very little money!

Sven looked in the office mirror and praised himself for avoiding female company so far. He had concluded after his initial plane ride down here that it was not worth the risk. He had guessed that the General had planted spies everywhere. In particular, Wessel had sent one 'special' employee to Nazca two weeks ago. The fellow's name was Chuck, and he had immediately informed Sven that he was 'here to protect you – I am your body guard.' Chuck had followed Sven around as a dog would a doting owner that first week.

As Sven sat back down, he reasoned that the General had become paranoid. Wessel had called Sven regularly during his three weeks in Nazca but at random times through the day. He would always claim merely to be 'checking up' on Sven. At first, Sven had thought it quaint; however, Sven eventually had concluded that Wessel was presumably trying to catch him with a woman _._

Sven smiled when he remembered that last week when Chuck had other business, Sven had slipped away from the office; went for a drive into town; and then discovered a rather 'special' hotel on the outskirts of town _where the skirts fell down_! As he daydreamed about what he anticipated experiencing there later this evening, Sven heard a knock on the door. It was the Peruvian supervisor of the mine.

As he rubbed his eyes, Sven asked, "What can I do for you, Pedro?"

Pedro reminded him, explaining, "It is time for your call, signor, _jes_?"

Ferengson had heard just enough native-tongued Spanish speakers previously to recognize that they had trouble with English words that started with the letter 'y' – they usually pronounced such words with a 'j' sound instead. If that was laughable to Sven, it was nothing compared to their complete inability to utter words that began with the letter 'h'. Those words they started with a sound resembling a person clearing his sinus or throat in preparation to spit mucus. To Sven, Spanish-speakers speaking English sounded uniformly sickening.

Hiding his true feelings, Sven smiled and replied, "Thank you for the reminder, Pedro; and yes, I will put in a good word for you and your hard-working crew!"

Pedro replied, " _Gracias, signor!_ " Then, with humbleness, he backed out of the room bowing repeatedly as he went.

As he watched Pedro leave, Sven thought, 'Damn foreigners; nothing wrong with _my_ English!

Sven imagined that until Malevcon hired Pedro, he had been a local yokel riding a horse and pulling a donkey that carried hardened manure. The General had been right about this place being a hellhole. The locals were impolite, even intolerant of white visitors unless they held positions of authority. When they spoke to a white boss like Sven, these spicks fawned and toadied. It was a pathetic place.

On the other hand, Sven had figured out that it was also a dangerous place. Most of these spicks carried guns when off-duty, especially the higher wage-earning employees of Malevcon. Sven needed to maintain a certain level of authoritative diplomacy.

As he looked down to his holster, he remembered thanking the General for supplying him with a rifle, pistol, and ammo, shortly after Sven had arrived. As he sat with the cell phone in his left hand, he patted his holster with his right, as if the gun were his friend and imagined that he resembled Indiana Jones. He fantasized that locals would respectfully nickname him 'Dakota Ferengson'. To them he would be a 'kick-ass Yankee gringo' even though he was actually Swedish. _These macho Latino types want to see authority worn around the waist and across the chest, in the form of bullets._

Dr. Ferengson dialled the secure number and began his call. When Wessel answered, Sven began, "General, I have completed my site scouting assignment and have an update on your current mine's situation."

Wessel responded, "Great to hear, doctor. Everything go alright?"

With an upbeat tone and a quick pace, Sven explained, "Well sir, most of my news is positive. I have a promising site to recommend and the gold vein lode your miners discovered three weeks ago is sill producing at record levels!"

Instantly wary, Wessel remarked, "That's great, doctor, but you said 'most' of yer news was positive. What could be negative?"

"Well, sir, I believe eastward _past_ your drilling rights area, there could be a substantial lode also . . ."

Excitedly, Wessel interrupted, "Well, shit, son, that's great news! Now don't you worry 'bout drilling where it ain't legal. I can take care of any local authorities. Hell, they'll either join us or get out o' the way! You just get in there and tell me what we're facin'."

Sven did not like hearing the expression 'just get in there' because Ferengson considered his work finished. He began, "Well, sir, I have a recommendation on _paper_ for you . . ."

Dismissively, Wessel continued, "Don't climb off the horse so soon, cowboy! I'll increase your fee of course, but I need you to stay and oversee the next phase o' the operation!"

"Yes, sir, but . . ."

"No 'buts', Dr. Ferengson," interrupted Wessel. Then he quipped, "And no 'butts' either!"

The General lapsed into a fit of self-congratulating dialogue interspersed with laughter, seemingly tremendously impressed by his own wit. His shameless outburst reminded Sven of the cartoon character Foghorn Leghorn.

Dismayed by the increased workload, Sven neutrally enquired, "What sorts of time commitments do you require, sir?"

Back on track, Wessel explained, "Well now, that's what I like – enthusiasm! I'll tell you what – you fire off that report to me right now and I'll call ya back with a plan right after I read it!"

They ended their call and Sven Ferengson slumped back in the swivelling chair, placed his hands on his face, and sighed. He sighed because he had recommended in his report that the only way to 'acquire' the gold was by means of a directional drill. The problem was, finding a supplier of such a specialized piece of equipment was hard enough, but finding the sort of extra large drill Sven had recommended for this specific need would be damn near impossible. Meanwhile, Sven had just agreed to stay and oversee the project. _Wonderful! I'll probably die here . . . celibate too!_

He swivelled in his chair to look out the small window. He clasped his hands behind his head and asked himself when this would all end. He had been imagining visiting the hotel; instead, he remained waiting for the General's call. He thought it ironic that he had only just taught the General the meaning of the term 'directional drill' a few weeks earlier.

He stood up, crossed the room, and faxed his report to the General. It would take a few seconds to transmit, and the General would need mere minutes to read it; however, the drill Sven had recommended could take weeks to find, and a further month to assemble.

Despite the extra pay, Sven would not enjoy the wait. As he watched the report sliding through the machine, he thought about potential excuses. Unfortunately, Sven knew that Wessel was aware of Sven's family situation. Sven had no relatives whose death he could lie about. Neither could Sven convince a man like Wessel that money was unimportant. Wessel knew that Sven was a capitalist – capitalists adored cash – cash was here for the easy making. Case closed!

Worst of all, Sven reasoned that asking Wessel for a few days off would diminish him in the General's eyes; moreover, even if Wessel allowed a short leave, Sven knew the man would fret and worry the whole time he was gone. That would not make for continued good relations. Sven reasoned that his only chance to escape was to convince Wessel about the infeasibility of acquiring the drill.

Sven sat back down after he had received confirmation of the sent report and closed his eyes to nap. About an hour later, General Wessel returned his call. Sven immediately set about making things difficult, explaining, "I think the size machine you would need might not exist, sir." Ingenuously, he continued, "I am sorry, but, although it is a noble capitalistic venture; nevertheless, you would likely need to custom-build the drill and that could take over a year."

Unfazed, Wessel countered, "Hold yer horses there, Doc! I have a neighbour who knows a thing or two about this sort o' thing! I'll git back to ya about what he tells me!"

Sven tried his second ploy, which was actually probably true. He explained, "My examination of the area caused me to conclude that I highly doubt you could find an experienced enough dynamite specialist down here for a task of this scope. You will probably need a few months to find someone qualified . . . and who will be willing to risk it, considering the legal position, sir? I could, of course, return later to assist as you might need."

Reassuring him, Wessel began, "Well now, once _agin_ , don't you worry about that." Then he revealed, "I'll get Chuck to do the blasting and to bring in his special excavation crew, pronto!"

Surprised, Sven repeated, "Chuck?" Then he added, "But, Chuck . . . is my bodyguard."

Slightly evasive, Wessel continued, "Chuck is a . . . man of many talents, doctor."

Afraid to hear the answer, Sven inquired, "Chuck can blast with dynamite?"

Proudly, Wessel revealed, "He's an Ex-marine with 10 years in bomb diffusing, construction, and deployment!"

Slowly and defeated, Sven replied, "I see, General, I will have a chat with him. Very good then. You seem to have this under control, sir. Any idea of how long you think you'll continue to need me?"

Wessel admitted, "Hell, no, doctor. That's really up to you and Chuck." Then, he quickly added; "Now my advice to you would be to get at it fast if ya wanna make it home fer lover's day!"

Sven heard Wessel begin the same sort of Foghorn Leghorn shit he earlier had to endure, and so Sven disconnected without saying anything more.

Sven sat staring at the cell phone in his hand and wondered how many other surprises he would discover in the coming weeks.

### Chapter 17: Karate class – Aurica – January 16

By now, Natalia considered herself settled in with her father, although she surmised that he needed a lot of work. Since he was a genius and thus rare, he reminded her of a limited edition car. However, since he was also lonely, he reminded her of a broken down car. To Natalia, her father was like a Ferrari up on repair blocks: a great thing but practically useless!

As she sat in Sensei Jean-Claude's karate class during the meditation phase, Natalia decided that her father needed a woman. Natalia concluded as she breathed in slowly and rhythmically with her eyes closed that the woman he needed was not her mother. That wish was now a faded memory: it was yesterday's dream. Today, Natalia replaced her mother with Ruth.

One problem she could see was that during Natalia's information search of Ruth, she had discovered that the philanthropist travelled the globe almost half the time; thus, she would not be around much. This could be both good and bad. Her father, after all, was a workaholic, unavailable half the time. Maybe they could coordinate their schedules.

The big problem getting it started, as Natalia saw it, was that her father needed a personal makeover. He needed work on attracting the opposite sex. He was such a nerd. He looked like his favourite fashion statement was to wear a single piece of clothing from each decade he had been alive. She reasoned that if her father owned his own clothing store, he would call it 'Blender Retro'! She smiled and withheld a giggle as she thought the name up.

Sensei interrupted her thoughts, saying, "Miss Natalia; you appear to be enjoying yourself in your mind. Do you wish to share?"

"Uh, no, Sensei Jean-Claude – my thoughts were personal. I did not mean for them to be disruptive. I am sorry!"

With his decidedly pronounced French Canadian accent, Sensei explained, " _Zat_ is okay Natalia. To _'ave_ an _'appy_ _tought_ is a good _ting_! If everyones _'ave 'appy toughts_ all _duh_ time _den dis_ world is . . . more ' _appy_!"

Natalia noticed that Sensei could not pronounce the letter 'h' at all. After only one class with him, Natalia had decided that since his accent did not seem to bother him at all, then she found it adorable. With a grin, she responded, "Yes, Sensei, thank you; I will meditate hard again now!"

With a gently raised finger, Sensei offered his wisdom, stating, "No, do not try to meditate too _'ard_ because you can get an _'eadache_ _dat_ way; you _'ave_ to relax your _'ead!"_

Smiling, Natalia responded, "Okay, Sensei, I'll try that!" Then Natalia closed her eyes again.

After a few minutes passed, Sensei commented, "Good, Natalia, you look very . . . relax and . . . peaceful."

"Yes, Sensei, I feel calm," replied Natalia.

Encouragingly, Sensei Jean-Claude remarked, "You are making great progress after just one week of class!"

In Japanese, she replied, " _Domo arigato,_ Sensei." Natalia wondered if Sensei had taken his time selecting the words relax and peaceful because they were easier for him to say than 'happy'.

A few seconds later, Natalia opened one of her two closed eyes, to glance around the room. She thought her compulsion to do so was because she wanted to see if others were doing the same. She wanted to know if there were cheaters. Detecting none, she felt secure that Sensei had a positive influence on the group.

Perhaps attending this martial arts course would help her to stay calm and control her anger, but she would never know if it was working with her eyes closed like this. Again, she decided to peek with one eye to make sure that all the other students were calming themselves with their eyes closed, too.

This time someone else was peeking. She was sure she had seen him before now, but his karate uniform obscured her previous memory of him. In her mind, she had an image of this kid spilling something. _Whatever!_

His looks, however, reminded her of the Seminole Indian that attended her last school. This kid's skin was almost as dark toned and reddish as her friend's was – her friend was half-Seminole. Natalia reckoned the local climate probably played havoc with skin tone. Regardless, Natalia was sure that this kid in her karate class was also at least part-North American Native.

As her wandering eye met his, she noticed him freeze and display a 'caught-me' look. She almost let out a laugh as he rapidly closed his eye and quickly turned his head away from hers. Since Sensei had already spoken to her about laughter during meditation, she suppressed it completely.

A minute or so later, the students all stood to take their five minute scheduled break and so Natalia approached the Native guy, who was drinking from a water bottle now, and she decided to initiate a conversation, asking, "So, I guess you're not sure about meditation either, huh?"

With little conviction that Natalia could detect, the kid replied, "Uh, well, I believe enough in meditation . . . I think. I was just . . . lookin' around, eh!"

Gently, she probed, asking, "People-watching, were you?"

Defensively, he reasoned, "I guess so – maybe I do it when I'm nervous."

"Hey, I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh . . . well, thanks," began the kid, relieved. Then he explained, "I mean, Sensei probably wouldn't be impressed . . . and that would be bad because I really like this karate so far."

Natalia admitted, "Me too, and hey, I only know you were peeking because I was too!"

Reasoning her comment through, he stated, "Well, yeah, I guess you were." Then, he suddenly broke out in a smile filled with equal parts of generosity and relief.

As she noticed the obvious gap in his teeth, Natalia inquired, "Did you lose that tooth playing sports?"

The kid explained, "No, I lost it when I decided I didn't want to do this other kid's homework anymore, and my missing tooth was the price he charged me for breaking 'our deal'."

As he said 'our deal', he positioned his fingers in a 'quote' gesture. Natalia understood his meaning clearly – the other kid was probably an asshole bully.

She stated, "That's pretty funny. Did you kick the shit out of him after?"

Neutrally, the kid replied, "Uh, no – it happened before my uncle signed me up for karate."

"Oh, so it's more of a revenge thing for you," began Natalia. Then she added, "Cool; I respect that!"

He admitted, "No, I'm not looking for revenge. Even if I were to become as good as Jet Li, I have no plan for revenge. I mean, the guy who did this to me is a foot taller and much heavier."

Natalia reasoned, "Shit, they grow 'em big where you come from! He'd have to be the biggest kid in your class – maybe anyone's class!"

Innocently, the kid stated, "Actually, he's fifteen . . ."

Interrupting, Natalia continued, "Now wait, unless you are the smallest 15 year-old in the world . . ."

Standing up on his toes, the kid announced, "I'm twel – I'm almost thirteen."

Estimating that he was almost her height on his tiptoes, Natalia smiled, and declared, "Yeah! I remember now – Christmas party – you're in my class right?"

Because he thought it was the cool way to approach their introduction, he feigned naivety, and replied, "Uh, really?" _At first, pretend you've never noticed her before!_ Then, with complete fraudulence, he continued, "Oh . . . yeah . . . you're new, right?"

Good-naturedly, she declared, "Yeah, it sort of sucks, but it rocks in other ways!"

Surprised, he stated, "You think so? I was new in November. It hasn't 'rocked' for me yet!"

"I guess not, if that kid knocked your tooth out," began Natalia. Then she reflected, and said, "I don't recall anyone that size in our class though. Come to think of it, outside of a couple o' teachers, there's no one that size in the whole _school_!"

Quickly, he explained, "It wasn't in this school. It was in my last one."

"Oh, so _before_ you moved," began Natalia. She snapped her finger for emphasis, and added, "I get it now!" Then she had a curious thought, and inquired, "But wait, don't they just keep on pushin' kids through school here even if they're stupid bastards?" Before he could answer, she explained, "I mean, that's what they did in my last school."

Shrugging his shoulders, the kid replied, "Yeah, I think they do that here too."

Reasoning it out, Natalia concluded, "So this kid could not have flunked out three times over, which means . . . you were doing grade 10 homework!"

Defensively, he replied, "Okay, so I was doing a grade 10 kid's homework." Then he quickly explained, "I did it because he couldn't, but he knew I could, _and_ he was way bigger than me, but it's over and not important."

"If you say so," replied Natalia evenly, but then she smiled and added, "You grow more interesting. Hey, do I know your name?"

"I'm Joe."

"Okay, Joe, I'm Natalia. I presume Joe is short for Joseph?"

"I guess so," replied Joe, with a shrug.

Incredulous that he seemed uncertain about such a thing, she asked, "You aren't sure?"

Joe could only ever remember having heard Joe or Painted Sun as his name before. He explained, "I really don't know, eh."

Natalia had done an in-depth school project that focused on native North Americans. She had earned an A+ on it. She spoke with deductive authority, saying, "Well then, my next presumption is that since you haven't any Asian aspect in your looks then you are unlikely to be Inuit. Continuing along that line, you bear strong cheekbones but no sign of any European heritage as a Métis would have; therefore my guess is First Nations . . . although I apologize that I am being non-specific."

With a sense of both curiosity and admiration, Joe remarked, "Actually, no one has _ever_ tried to figure that out before . . . you seem to know a lot about my people."

She asked, "Well?"

Uncertain, he countered, "Well what?"

"How did I do?"

Catching her meaning, Joe light-heartedly explained, "Oh yeah, you're right, but most people who are 'non-specific' – as you called it – use terms like 'Indian' or if they feel like using an adjective to help them describe me further, then they add 'dirty' or 'stinkin'."

Genuinely shocked, Natalia responded, "That's awful, Joe. I can't laugh at that – it wouldn't be right!"

Evenly, he explained, "I can though because if I don't, then my only other option is to cry about it." The he offered a gap-tooth smile and reasoned, "Then I'd be a 'dirty, lazy, cry-baby Indian' too, eh?"

While he chuckled, she responded as in the cliché, "You're a better man than me, Joe!"

Deadpanning, he stated, "Well that should be easy enough."

Suddenly, somewhat guarded, she asked, "Why do you say that?"

As a question, Joe humorously explained, "Because you're a girl?"

Understanding her own gaff, she apologized, saying, "Oh! I see – I said 'man' just then. It was just a cliché Joe – sorry to confuse you!"

He responded, "No need to apologize!" Then he smiled, and added, "I was sure you were a girl from the moment I saw you!"

Trying to determine if she should be impressed, she asked, "You mean, you could tell I was a girl, even when you first saw me on Monday in my bulky karate outfit?"

Freely admitting it, Joe quickly answered, "Sure, then; and even the first time when you wore that guys' football shirt you like, eh?"

A brief pause ensued.

Suddenly, as if confirming it from a knowing good friend, Natalia inquired, "I _do_ wear my Jacksonville Jaguars shirt quite frequently don't I, Joe?"

Smilingly, Joe confidently replied, "Sure do!"

Her tone more resembling an accusation, Natalia asked, "Do you know that I remember wearing that shirt the first day I went to class, Joe?"

She had just caught him at the recognition cheat he had earlier pulled on her. Joe answered, "Uh, no shit, eh?"

While he turned more red than usual, her previous accusatory tone gave way to a smile. Then Natalia said, "You're an interesting guy, Joe." She wondered what he was so talented at, and asked, "What subjects did you help that asshole with?"

"Math and science," replied Joe. Then he laughed. Half his laugh inspired by her use of rude slang and the other half because he was still nervous from her revealing him a few seconds ago.

With a straight face, she suggested, "Maybe you should help me instead."

Then, a pause ensued during which both looked at the clock. She was thinking primarily about their five-minute break having been productive but that it was almost finished. He was thinking primarily about being the luckiest male alive and hoped his breath was fresh.

After a smile, she demanded, "Well, Joe, are you going to help me?"

Quickly, he answered, "Sure!" Then, inspired by her forwardness, he jokingly added, "As long as you don't knock out any more of my teeth – the rest are all adult teeth, and so was my lost one, eh."

"You're messin' with me, Joe," began Natalia. Then in a good-natured tone, she claimed, "You're probably half way to your yellow belt while I've earned only half o' my _first_ white."

Joe was on his first white belt too, and admitted, "I only started in November."

Remembering that he had said he was new too, Natalia modified her praise slightly, stating, "Well, you've got a few weeks on me, anyways."

In just three karate classes, Joe could tell she was a natural. With genuine admiration, he remarked, "You're puttin' _me_ on because I can see you're a fast learner."

"That's almost like a pickup line, Joe," said Natalia, smiling afterwards.

Suddenly, Sensei called for reassembly in the gym. Relieved by the interruption, Joe decided Sensei's request was the most important thing on Earth. With false heaviness, Joe commented, "I think Sensei is motioning for us all to return, eh."

Quickly, she asked, "Will you wait for a minute after class?"

Wondering if he might faint before then, Joe risked replying, "Sure."

They continued their lesson and afterwards her instructor offered praise for his newest student. Sensei said, "Excellent, Natalia! Your progress is most impressive!" Then he added, "You ' _ave_ a gift for karate."

Natalia smiled remembering that he had explained during Wednesday's class that his birth occurred in Quebec; schooling in New Brunswick; training in Okinawa; and thus, her Sensei was a French Canadian, schooled bilingually, who learned Martial Arts on a Japanese island.

Mischievously, Natalia asked, "Do you mean ' _h_ ave' Sensei Jean-Claude?"

With a tone suggesting he recognized the joke, Sensei exaggerated his reply, stating, "Yes, yes, of course I do _es_. You know what I mean! You must not make fun of _duh_ way people speak _s_ Natalia, because _dey_ get _s h_ angry!"

After he said ' _h_ angry', Sensei offered the air an overproduced karate chop signalling that he was not offended. After that, Natalia realized that nothing seemed to offend Sensei. He was always incredibly calm and spoke of the good in things only, never the bad. Natalia admired this disposition, and decided she should try to emulate it more often.

She felt it would be hard, because most adults became infuriated with her cleverness, candid speaking, and irreverent attitude within seconds of meeting her; however, if Sensei had learned to tolerate all the language bullshit she suspected he had faced, well then she would try to smile at adversity; praise people more; and generally think more positively.

Sensei showed her and everyone else in class powerful moves; how to execute them with precision; and demanded only that they respect the art; each other; and the temple within which they practiced. He stressed that they should only use what he taught them in self-defence, and then only as a last resort.

Just before the end of class, he asked if anyone had any questions. Natalia asked, "Sensei, how do you control your anger?"

He explained, "I remind myself – anger is an exhausting waste of energy and time. I need to seek peace _widdin_!" She smiled, bowed her head in thanks, and then silently self-clarified that he had said 'within' with his very cute accent.

After class, all the students participated in cleaning up their temple – the gym. As they politely exited to the hallway, Natalia found Joe putting on his winter coat. When he spotted her, Joe immediately imagined he was a guy putting on his winter coat way more coolly than any other guy could. When Joe subsequently began to place his right foot in his right boot more coolly than any other guy, Natalia asked, "Hey Joe, when can you come visit me at my place?"

As cool as ever, Joe tumbled forward to the ground realizing too late that the boot was actually the left one. On his knees, he attempted a reputation recovery, declaring, "It's a good thing Sensei taught us how to look good falling down!"

She inquired, "You okay?"

Like so many civilizations that had succumbed to the Borg on _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , Joe realized that resistance was futile. Still on the ground, he sat back and began pulling each boot onto its correct foot. Then, channelling Bond, he announced, "I am shaken, but not stirred."

Natalia saw an opportunity to practice her newfound disposition, walked over to him, and then said, "Give me your hands."

In this instance respecting that resistance was stupid, Joe offered his hands to Natalia, who then quickly pulled him to his feet. Once there, Joe estimated that their noses were three inches apart. She released his hands and calmly stated, "You still haven't answered my first question, Joe."

For once, coolly remembering, Joe quickly replied, "Pick the time and I'll be there!"

Still three inches away, she smiled and confidently stated, "We'll set it up tomorrow at school." Then they headed outside. It was dark and snow covered the ground in Aurica. Joe noticed that a man drove the car Natalia went into – he thought the man must be her father. He was probably a successful high-powered business executive who made millions, like so many people in this rural suburb.

Joe decided that when he met her father, he would have nothing in common with him. To this point in his life, Joe's motto was _'even if disappointed by your low expectation – get over it!'_

Joe began walking home as he always did because he lived nearby. Joe did not notice if anyone noticed him pumping the air and saying 'yes!' six times in short order very loudly, as he trotted along. He found the crisp cool air particularly stimulating tonight. He began to sing a pop ballad that usually only girls sang.

When he rounded the final corner on his journey home, Joe was almost finished singing his love song. He did not notice when the neighbour's snarling Doberman growled menacingly at him in the usual way as he passed by it. Normally the dog scared the shit out of Joe, but on this evening, he was too busy to care. He was imagining instead what he would name his blond-haired children.

### Chapter 18: Ruth at home – Toronto – January 19

Ruth sat in her favourite faux-leather office chair in her penthouse. Her uncle Chauncey sat across from her in his favourite, a wooden rocker. While they shared tea and biscuits, they reviewed her scrapbook. She recalled as she flipped it open, that Uncle Chauncey first gave it to her about a decade ago, after her first successful business acquisition.

She understood that outside of mothers with young children, she represented a very small minority of people who kept a scrapbook of their triumphs anymore. Of course, she also suspected that those mothers across the world who maintained such keepsakes did so for entirely sentimental reasons: Ruth's motives were similar but included a pragmatic component.

Ruth kept this pictorial business diary to both remind herself of past business successes and to review her philanthropic exploits. Along side of newspaper photos and stories announcing critical corporate successes, she also included notes about how she had caught cheaters in the past.

As she nibbled a biscuit, Uncle Chauncey pointed to one photo and announced it was one of his favourites. Ruth read her script- style, hand-written comments beside the photo. It was another antiquated-style hobby of hers.

She read very evenly, saying, "All the team and Uncle, celebrating in local bar with gins and tonic. Ruth on the camera. 93° F in shade that day."

They both laughed and recounted how Ruth's first venture onto a corporate board of directors eventually resulted in that company's CEO stepping down over a fraudulent housing scheme. She recalled it had started when the federal government in a particular African country provided a large financial grant and land, to a developer to build a communal housing project.

After workers completed the project, over a dozen complaints from the victimized to the federal government, identified that they wound up losing their promised housing to wealthy replacements. An initial investigation proved only that none of the replacement tenants would have qualified for the commune-style dwelling due to their high income, so Ruth set to work investigating the matter in more depth: she uncovered a bribery scheme.

Eventually, the bribery trail led back to the person at the very top of the controlling company. Ruth recalled the CEO accepted about $250,000 in total bribes, despite making an annual salary of over $1.2 million. She recalled feeling a sense of irony over the matter: he could not have done it for need, just greed.

After a moment of reflection, Uncle Chauncey chipped in suddenly stating, "Remember the look on that CEO chap's face when the media blokes snapped his shot after you exposed his lies? I thought he might die in his seat, but then I decided his look instead rather resembled a fellow relieving himself in his trousers!"

Mildly admonishing him, Ruth declared, "Uncle Chauncey – you are incorrigible!"

They laughed together and then Chauncey brought up the matter of today's business, asking, "So Ruthy, when can we expect this duo of loveliness to appear for a briefing?"

Ruth provided a demure return glance at her uncle and announced, "Uncle, you know they will be here any minute. You needn't be coy with me. I know you fancy them both!"

Her 83-year-old uncle mildly retorted, "And what sane man _half_ my age wouldn't?"

Continuing her tone, Ruth reasoned, "A man half your age would be slightly past 40 and thus; unlikely to pursue a 52 year-old woman. A no-nonsense geologist like Dr. Henderson would hardly be attractive to a man like that, surely!" She had referred to one of the two women they had hired to form a team to investigate Malevcon's mining activities in Peru.

With admiration, Chauncey declared, "52! By Jove, she's a . . . now what do you young people call them today . . . a . . . panther!"

"A panther? Uncle, I think you've got it wrong," began Ruth.

Chauncey interrupted, "Well, er . . . a predatory feline, then. Some form of man-eater at any rate. I thought the young people had a modern term for it."

Slowly, Ruth explained, "I believe 'cougar' is your term, Uncle Chauncey, but darling; that term describes a woman closer to my own age, and one who men in their _twenties_ find attractive!"

Still mock-plaintive, Chauncey continued, "Speak for yourself – at my age even a young senior citizen qualifies – you know, if she's still active with those modern exercise programs, such as yoga _r_ , Tea chee, and the like!"

Correcting him, Ruth explained, "I think you mean 'tai chi', uncle!" His comment reminded her also, that many British people have great difficulty not adding an 'r' to the end of foreign words that end in an 'a'.

Still absorbed by his octogenarian fantasy, Chauncey continued, "Yes, that's it – spot on girl – at any rate, so long as she is sporty!"

As she scrutinized an 8 X 10 glossy, Ruth recalled that while she had found them a geologist, Chauncey had found the actor. The glossy was the actor's photo résumé. Guardedly, Ruth remarked, "You don't think you overdid it with this actress you hired. I mean, as I examine her . . . professional photo . . ."

Chauncey interrupted, "In the theatre, actresses call them 'head shots', dear. Do try to use the proper term – very important for their egos, you see!"

Not wanting to hurt his feelings, Ruth stated, "Only, I meant that while she seems excessively pretty; how might she be in the intelligence department? That is, not to put it too bluntly, uncle!"

Undaunted, Chauncey continued, "No offence taken, Ruthy. Bob's your uncle, eh! Now the thing is, your nemesis chap . . . uh, Ferguson, is it?"

Still in complete control of her emotions, Ruth remarked, "Dr. Ferengson, the lecherous swine who pillages the land."

Mispronouncing his name again, Chauncey interjected, "That's it! Spit spot – Ferguson! Now, here is a proper villain, cad, bounder, and scoundrel! Nothing short of vilification and seeing him pilloried in the public stocks will do!"

Thinking he was overreacting a tad, Ruth declared, "Goodness, that sounds severe, uncle!"

As he snapped off a large chunk of chocolate-covered finger-shaped biscuit, Chauncey explained, "Ahh, but you see my dear, I know these types – ran into them in that Korean police action back in '54. Can't trust 'em – bad eggs! Rotten to the core – you have to teach them a proper lesson!"

"I understand that, uncle, but," began Ruth, "I hope you didn't select her solely based on her pretty face!"

Chauncey reasoned, "Ahh, but that is _exactly_ how we lure the villain! He cannot resist a pretty face; thus, we will provide him one!"

Concerned, Ruth questioned, "But what if she cannot remember what to do when the time comes?"

Confident, Chauncey explained, "She is an actress, Ruthy. She is certain to be most comfortable upon the stage . . . pretending! Why, I am sure she shall be a natural!"

Before Ruth could respond, ground floor security buzzed to request clearance for two 'female guests identifying themselves as Dr. Theresa Henderson and actor Tillie O'Saunter'. Ruth granted clearance and then stood awaiting her guests in the foyer. Uncle Chauncey trundled forth to join her. Eventually they heard the doorbell, Chauncey opened the door, and then said, "Come in, ladies. You are most welcome!"

Ruth poured tea for all, and then over the next hour, she and their newly hired performers listened as her wily old uncle explained his intricate plan of deceit. They heard how she and her uncle had agreed shortly after her Nazca press conference that precision timing was of the essence if Ruth were to expose wrong-doing on Malevcon's part; thus, they should come up with a plan to infiltrate the mine as safely as possible, but at a time when Malevcon management's guard was down.

Chauncey had convinced Ruth during their discussion that she was too public a figure these days to be involved in any sort of 'front line' attempt to trick management: in the current day, it was highly likely someone would recognize her on sight, even miners in Peru.

On the other hand, when Ruth had explained to Chauncey that Ferengson could not resist the charms of attractive women, Chauncey had reasoned with her that they should hire both a real geologist to provide expert on-site diagnosis, and an entirely false one – a beautiful actress – to play a distracting role.

The false one should be able to distract him from his work responsibilities. If the beautiful actress could succeed at this, then during the distraction, the real geologist could find out if any wrongdoing was happening.

Ruth poured a second round of tea for everyone as her uncle unveiled the specifics of his plan to the newly hired pair. Ruth was still a tad sceptical about hiring an actor; but deferred to her uncle's wisdom and experience. He was a retired military major from the British army and known for being a keen strategist there.

After Chauncey had explained his plans to everyone twice, he allowed them all a short break. Thereafter, he insisted that they each recite their role to him. He started with Dr. Henderson. As she prepared herself to speak, he admired her. To him, she looked a smart woman with a 'no-nonsense' stamp upon her.

"Now then, Dr. Henderson, you may proceed," began Chauncey, with a certain military flare.

Politely, Theresa asked, "Should I address you as 'Major', sir, during my recital?" Because she seemed so serious, no one imagined her to be in any way sarcastic.

Smiling, Chauncey replied, "That's not necessary, my dear." Then he explained, "That was my title in the army, but this is civilian life. You see, in civilian life we have a chance to do great things that will benefit all humankind and leave a better world for tomorrow. In the army on the other hand, our efforts were entirely ineffectual. War is simply the excuse politician's use to distract citizens from poor governance and to cull the population. Why, I imagine the present Canadian government very much laments the country was not involved in the Vietnam War – less of these baby boomers would be left for them to pay pensions to . . ."

Knowing her uncle had a tendency unintentionally to wander off topic, Ruth tactfully interrupted, "Uncle? You still have not answered Theresa's question and we are all, I believe, on rather tight schedules."

Immediately apologetic, Chauncey began, "Oh, yes, sorry all . . . bad habit." Then he pointed to an obvious scar on his forehead, and explained, "Bit of shrapnel during the war, you see – affects the mind somewhat."

Maintaining the same polite tone, Theresa asked "Ahh, so, sir, how shall I address you again?"

"Yes, quite right. Chauncey is my name," began Chauncey. Then he kissed her hand, raised both of his extremely overgrown eyebrows at Theresa admiringly, and added, "But you may call me . . . anytime!"

While Theresa smiled weakly and curtsied uncomfortably to him, Ruth firmly, but playfully, reproached him, saying, "Ahem, uncle; behave!"

"Okay, Chauncey," began Theresa. "As I understand it, I will be playing the part of bumbling secretary to Tillie's alluring geologist, while Ruth waits in the car unnoticed at the Malevcon mining site in Peru."

Raising his arm and pointing his index finger upwards, Chauncey loudly declared, "Correct!" Then Chauncey asked, "And why are you at the site?"

As if reciting, Theresa continued, "We are at the site performing an inspection that Ruth has already arranged for March 16th, but one which she will demand a rescheduling for . . . for February 23rd, uh, 35 days from now! This earlier date should catch them unprepared."

As before, Chauncey declared, "Correct!" Then, he asked, "But why will you pretend to be a secretary, while the lovely Tillie plays your part, so to speak?"

"By playing an underling," continued Theresa, "I will not be respected by those 'hairy Latino womanizing bastards', sir – to use your vernacular – and thus, I will be free eventually to break away from the tour and perform some unescorted but necessary surveillance of the site."

Delighted, Chauncey exclaimed, "Perfect!" Then he politely requested, "I'll ask you to take a seat, but only temporarily my dear, so that we can hear what Miss O'Saunter has to say."

Smiling, Theresa replied, "Certainly, Chauncey!" Then she smoothed the backside of her dress as she sat back down.

Tillie jumped up enthusiastically awaiting her turn. She quickly primped herself in preparation, and then gleefully announced, "My turn!"

As if by habit, like a drill sergeant, Chauncey announced, "Wait for it!" Then, he sipped his tea, chomped another chocolate-covered finger-shaped biscuit, and said, "Right then, off you go!"

"Okay, my turn," began the actor. "I'm Tillie, but I will be playing Dr. Theresa Henderson, and it is my job to distract Dr. Sven Ferengson using my . . . assets." She paused, and then ran her arms in the air down her body as if to display her assets.

Delighted with her start, Chauncey exclaimed, "Excellent, Miss O'Saunter!" Smiling at her and admiring her assets, Chauncey requested, "Tell us specifically how you will distract Ferguson."

Conspiratorially, and overdoing it, Tillie explained, "Well, I will play 'haughty and dismissive' to everyone but Ferengson. To him I will send come-hither glances and winks when I think no one else is watching."

Doubly impressed by her looks and demeanour, Chauncey declared, "Excellent again!" He asked, "Now then, exactly how will you lure Ferguson – and only him – into the depths of the mine and away from his authoritative duties, also making sure he has no phone access?"

Ruth determined that her uncle was certainly providing Tillie with far more help than he gave Theresa, but then, she expected that.

Tillie answered, "Oh yeah, well, when 'my secretary' tells me in front of all those sweaty, swarthy, manly escort guards, that she needs to visit the bathroom because of a 'woman's problem', then they will assuredly not accompany her to the bathroom because, as you said, they are sexist pigs!"

Chauncey interjected, "Ah, yes, well put, my dear. Excellent! Do keep going . . ."

Picking up his cue, Tillie continued, "Once the real Dr. Henderson exits the bathroom – and having already phoned Ruth to alert her to meet her – then, she will rendezvous with her there, and begin a tour of their own."

Chauncey continued to lead her, saying, "Perfect . . . and by then you will . . ."

Interrupting with precision, Tillie answered, "Probably have Ferengson's hands all over me in some dingy elevator shaft by the sound of it!" After she answered, she laughed loudly at her clever remark, and then so did the others.

Ruth added, "Probably truer than you know!" Then she focused a mild stare at her uncle. _Are you sure about this?_

Ignoring his niece for the moment, Chauncey delicately continued, "Okay, let us address this specifically, Tillie . . . if he wants to kiss you . . ."

Confidently interrupting him, Tillie stated, "Sir Chauncey, don't you worry, I am a professional. We professional actors know that the results are most believable when you 'play for truth'."

"Indeed," replied Chauncey admiringly. Then he began, "Why, I once played Shakespeare a time or two in my boarding school youth. I recall the school news reporter writing that, _'few boys his age could have displayed the depth of feeling'_ I did, when I played in Romeo and Juliet!"

With reverence, Tillie interjected, "Really, Sir Chauncey? I suppose you were the Romeo for the century then?"

"Actually, it was a smaller part – all boys' school – I played Juliet's nurse," confessed Chauncey. Then he refocused, and suggested, "But anyways, I am encouraged by your enthusiasm, my dear. It would be best if he wants a kiss . . . give it your best!"

"I will, sir," replied Tillie. Then she remembered, and added, "And if he tries to make a phone call, I will threaten to stop our one-on-one if anything interrupts it!"

"Excellent!" announced Chauncey. Then he turned to Theresa and said, "Now then, Miss Henderson, your turn again!"

Ruth interrupted, "Excuse me, uncle, but this is _Dr._ Henderson!"

"Yes, yes, sorry, doctor," began Chauncey. Then he explained, "I'm rather excited just at present."

With mild sarcasm, Theresa responded, "I can see that, Chauncey." Then she continued in her recital style, explaining, "Okay, so I will flash my credentials and act authoritative – even dropping the phrase 'I have General Hank Wessel's full authority to conduct this inspection!' if I need some clout. Meanwhile, Ruth will be dressed identically to the secretary as I was, and will take my place as secretary, except she will wear a kerchief and . . . the ugliest pair of big sunglasses I have ever seen, by the way."

"Rather," interjected Chauncey idly. He added, "I believe you may be right about those, doctor!"

"Anyways," continued Theresa, "Ruth will sport a visible large video camera that will be running, but which is actually a decoy. She will also have a miniature lapel-mounted video and sound camera turned on and running the whole time!"

"Top form, doctor," began Chauncey, and then he asked, "And why the 'double camera' trick?"

"Because if the 'fiery, hairy Latinos bastards' decide to bust the camera," began Theresa, "then they will think they have quelled the threat. They aren't likely to suspect we are still filming with a second camera. We will also have footage of their attack, making them look like they have something to hide!"

"Top shelf, doctor – please continue," interjected Chauncey, and then he sipped his tea.

"In addition, if the General gets involved by phone after this happens," continued Theresa, "then I will personally denounce their behaviour to him complaining that I brought the camera along because Wessel himself personally assured Ruth he had nothing to hide; as in 'our intentions are honest – what about yours'?"

Chauncey exclaimed, "Perfect, perfect!"

Theresa inhaled and then foraged on, explaining, "Finally, if we find any wrongdoing, and if Ruth manages to stay incognito for the whole visit, then we will reveal her 'live' to her own camera later; place her video on YouTube anonymously; and pray that it goes viral!"

Placing his cup down, Chauncey declared, "Superb, doctor!" Then, respectful that he had helped Tillie, he phrased his next question accordingly, "One last thing; if the underlings demand that you _do_ call Wessel for verification, Wessel will assuredly ask where Ferguson is – and if somehow the latter manages to escape Tillie, then you are to . . ."

Quickly finishing his sentence, Theresa answered, "Scuttle the mission at our end to avoid Ferengson detecting that Ruth is with us!"

Standing and shouting it out, Chauncey said, "Brilliant, doctor!" Then he gleefully added, "I am so impressed with you all. I wish I could be there to see it all play out . . . alas, my gout!"

Like a cheerleader, Tillie added, "Don't worry; we'll pull it off!"

Clasping his hands together, Chauncey announced, "You three ladies are all angels!"

Theresa asked, "Does that make us . . . Chauncey's Angels?"

Laughter followed, and then they reviewed their plan one more time and Ruth reminded them of the departure date. She also explained to them that their flight was private, but that it would still take off from Pearson International in Toronto. They would meet to leave together from Ruth's office on Friday, February 20th, in the mid afternoon.

Before departing, Dr. Henderson asked, "Ruth, did you decide yet when to ask Wessel for the schedule change?"

Ruth replied, "Actually, doctor, I'm glad you brought that up. In your professional opinion, how much longer do you think I can hold off making the request . . . within reason?"

"I think I'd need more information, first," began Theresa. She asked, "What would hold you back from waiting until the last minute?"

Ruth replied, "It is tricky to balance my protective pursuits with shareholder obligations. The later I wait on both fronts, the more problems I will face."

Nodding her head, Theresa replied, "I think I get it. You need to do it sooner to catch Malevcon in any wrongdoing, but not so soon that they can easily cover it up."

"Precisely," answered Ruth. "Considering all the issues, I don't think I can delay the request to reschedule, for longer than a week!"

Theresa suggested, "I think a week is entirely reasonable. Perhaps try a week from tomorrow on the 27th."

"Perfect," said Ruth. After that exchange, they said their goodbyes.

Ruth closed the door and spotted her Uncle Chauncey about to light his pipe in her living room. She politely reminded him, saying, "Darling, remember that we don't smoke our pipe in the living room any more."

"Oh yes, of course! Sorry, Ruthy," said Chauncey as he grabbed his cardigan and headed for the balcony. He pointed to his scar, and repeated, "Bit of shrapnel in the war, you know." She smiled knowingly back and watched him as he ventured through the sliding glass doors.

### Chapter 19: General Wessel – Malibu – January 27

Into his cell phone, Hank Wessel appreciatively said, "Thank you again for the great news, Admiral Cunningham. I am mighty impressed with the speed your boys showed gettin' that drill down south for me."

Cunningham answered, "My pleasure, General. You paid the fees!"

Wessel hinted at his political ambition as he remarked, "Yeah, but you over-delivered, sir, and I will remember that in the near future . . . when I change things . . . in this State!"

A lifetime Republican himself, Cunningham responded, "I appreciate you keeping me in your thoughts, Hank. My prayers are with you, of course. I hope you're the next Republican Senator of California. Take care now."

They ended the call, Wessel sat back in his newly fortified smoking room, and then he examined his desktop photos from his military past. He picked up the one in which he and Admiral Cunningham of the US Navy, joined Colonel Webber of the US Air Force for a photo op at the last Republican presidential post-election party.

Hank had no idea then that he would eventually need to call in favours from both his military counterpart friends at almost the same time. Hank recalled that Webber retired first amongst the three, and that the Colonel accepted a consulting job with American Airlines that later turned into a lucrative career there.

Remembering that he thanked the Colonel appropriately after Webber had relayed Hank's important message to Ferengson during his flight to Peru about 10 days ago, Hank appreciated Webber's influence. It would normally cost a small fortune to do that, if you even knew anyone who _could_ do it for you. Hank spared no expense that day because he wanted Ferengson to understand how powerful he was. As Hank lit up his cigar, he smiled thinking about how much more power he might soon have if he could win the senate seat.

He looked at the Admiral in the photo again, and recalled the day Phillip contacted him to let him know that they would soon be neighbours. Phil and Hank were both boating enthusiasts and shared a competitive streak within that area. Phil called him to rekindle their 'biggest yacht' competition and to say he had just accepted a board of directors posting with the Naval Facilities Engineering Service Center based in nearby Port Hueneme.

Hank laughed as he poured a large whisky and remembered that Phil had told him that day that he timed his retirement perfectly. Phil's boss, the federal government, had just privatized the center, and offered him the position of Chief Government Liaison Manager.

Hank congratulated him then, but did not ask any further questions about the 'coincidental' nature of the appointment: it was obviously a patronage promotion. _Good for him!_

Hank swigged a large shot of his tumbler of Scotch and raised it towards his deceased father's picture on the wall across from him. His father had advised Hank to 'maintain military contacts' always. When Hank suddenly needed a directional drill 10 days ago, he immediately called Admiral Phillip Cunningham to see if he could refer Hank to a manufacturer. He hoped for no more than a reference because Phil's business was naval-based and Hank needed a land-based drill; however, it was a place to start.

To his complete surprise, Hank found out that the NFESC had significantly improved the technology of this sort of mining equipment in the '90s. They had improved both aquatic and land-based technology: they were the world leader in both fields!

Hank laughed to himself at his good luck that he had only to contact someone as close as the neighbouring small town to find a specialized piece of mining equipment. He laughed aloud when he recalled that the self-titled 'expert' Ferengson had advised him that a drill the size Hank needed, would take a year to assemble. Phil had a fleet of the things – hot and ready to go, like goddamned pizzas!

Hank laughed more recounting Phil's earlier confession on the phone that NFESC technology had assisted the Kuwaitis in stealing Iraqi oil in 1990. Such an incident would have started a war! Hank howled with laughter when he recalled how he sarcastically replied to Phil, saying, "Shhh! Admiral, the American public might get a crazy idea like we wanted to provoke _Sodomy_ Hussein into fightin' us or somethin' back then!" _People are just like sheep – tame and stupid!_

Hank could care less about people, especially those Middle Eastern towel-headed terrorists with sand up their ass cracks. As he saw it, they deserved no better than the pleasure of killing each other and he considered it an honour to have held a trigger from afar, assisting them in their pursuit of genocide. He shouted, "Gettin' rid of a few million Muslims before the Fat Lady sings 'The Star Spangled Banner' sounds like an excellent goddamn start to me!"

He noticed the sound of his voice seemed to stay in the room. He had demanded soundproofing. He had his wetback scab construction supervisor modify it that way in the renovation.

He finished his drink and puffed his cigar. He needed to call both Chuck and Ferengson. He needed an update from Chuck as to how much longer his excavation would take, and one from Ferengson about whether he was satisfied with Chuck's work. He laughed one more time thinking about how lucky he was to have an all-purpose employee like Chuck available to play at bodyguard while really spying, and then who could also blast a secret chamber in the middle of a goddamned mountain as needed.

He walked over to his photo wall and admired the picture of himself with Chuck. He envied the former gunnery Sergeant because Chuck had seen mostly front line fire as a soldier. This was hard to do for an officer these days, and as he glanced at the other pictures on his wall of photos, Hank spent the next few minutes reminiscing on his own military career.

First, he recalled he was too young to kick Commie gook ass back in Vietnam during the 1970s. Born in 1952 into such a decorated military family, Hank had had to follow their rules: 'All Wessels to West Point' his father had instructed him with a raised finger. This meant that Hank graduated in 1974. _The same year they persecuted Nixon and a year before the war ended._

Hank considered it unfair that he had served as the Captain of a logistical unit whose primary goal was to assist troops in departing the war zone. It was also disappointing to Hank that the next fight with real potential, literally had trouble flying off the ground: _Operation Eagle Claw_ , code name for the Iran hostage crisis of 1980. _It failed because that wimp Carter was a Democrat!_

Then there was _Operation Urgent Fury_ otherwise known as the 'Invasion of Grenada' in 1983. By then Hank was a Major and fully experienced to partake in the war effort. Hank enjoyed participating in that noble pursuit. He especially appreciated participating, as usual, from a safe distance. Despite their efforts, though, the Grenada war nevertheless more resembled a police action. It ended about seven weeks later, seemingly, as Hank recalled now, 'as quickly as the world first took notice of it'.

He looked next at some photos of the first attack on Iraq. George _Dubbya_ Bush's Papa named the attack _Operation Desert Storm._ That initiative was a great success but it still bothered Hank that the damn ever-present media kept reporting that American technology was 'so superior to that of the Iraqis that anything less than a rout of their forces constituted failure'. At least that war saw Hank earn his promotion to Colonel. He drained his glass of whisky and then saluted the photo of George Bush, Sr. _We kicked ass for you, Chief!_

Hank continued to walk along his war memory lane. When he arrived at the photos of the Yugoslav Wars, Hank decided he needed another whisky. As he poured it, he opted to fill the glass because thinking about the Yugoslav Wars instantly recalled memories of that gutless Democratic socialist, Bill Clinton.

It pissed Hank off that his troops never saw combat in that war. He thought about the compromising ass-kisser, Clinton, and that he only ever agreed to send in an air assault to break up the gang rumble. Hank remembered that he and his soldiers sat on their asses at home and watched the goddamn bombers on television like the rest of the civilian sheep. _Clinton could have cost me my promotion to General!_

Hank swallowed another large shot, and admired his personally addressed photo from George _Dubbya_ Bush. Hank did not care that the media identified 'Bush Junior' as 'barely literate and incapable of intelligent political thought'. _Screw those assholes_! _Dubbya was a patriot!_

He smiled as he admired his autographed photo of Bush Junior. Bush had ordered Hank to join the fight in the usual way – from afar. The second Iraq War earned Hank his promotion to General.

He laughed aloud; saluted Bush Junior's picture; and then thanked God that the average American had been wise enough to accept Bush, as being the man who would restore America's God-given right to crush whomever or whatever it felt needed it next!

Finally, Hank reached his sacred corner. It held two magnificent testaments to American domination. He stood first in front of the waving American flag – Old Glory – because he liked to save the glass case memorial for last.

He saluted the flag and recalled how long it took the carpenter foreman to set things right. Hank demanded that the flag perpetually wave. The little wetback foreman kept telling him, " _No vaya! No vaya!"_ Hank knew this meant something like "Won't work" but Hank stood his ground insisting the little prick position the fans to blow so that the flag rippled in the windowless room like it did on top of the White House.

Running the fans 24/7 would probably raise Hank's electricity usage bill significantly, but he rationalized that soon taxpayer money would pay the tab, and not Hank.

Finally, he arrived at his favourite memory of war. He recalled fondly the trip that lead to good fortune where he found his beloved memento. He felt a swelling of emotion, but stifled the unmanly urge to cry. He drank a shot of whisky and recomposed himself.

He looked into the glass case: there it hung just as he had pinned it a week ago. He admired its prime condition and noted that the passing of years had not faded its color. The helicopter gunships shooting the green-looking figures on the ground were a perfect reminder to Hank of his undying longing to have participated in the glory of Vietnam. He felt tears welling up again and he succumbed to shedding a few.

As he wiped his eyes, he read the green-lettering title 'Search and Destroy'. He remembered he had had a choice of purchasing the T-shirt in three different colours: red, black or yellow. Although the red shirt had tempted him because after all, it remains to this day the Commie flag color; nevertheless, Hank had selected the yellow shirt because it remained to this day, gook skin colour. _Thank god, I ventured into that Army Surplus store!_

After reflecting for a moment in front of his sacred memento, he gathered himself together; refocused his thoughts on present day matters; and prepared for business. He had two important cell phone calls to place.

He decided to call Chuck first because he would have a spy report on Ferengson, and Hank could find out how Chuck's excavation had progressed. Before he could press the first number on his cell, his landline rang. He was not expecting any calls. _The only people who used that line were blood-sucking telemarketers!_

Guardedly, Hank asked, "Hello?"

Hank could tell who it was immediately when a female voice politely asked, "Hello, would you be so kind as to connect me to Mr. Hank Wessel, please?"

Deciding to play at politeness for the time being, Hank responded, "This is General Wessel, and I believe you must be Ruth Clarkson-Smythe – sorry, that is, _Lady_ Ruth."

"Very good then, Mr. Wessel," remarked Ruth. She explained, "My geologist has just informed me that she has experienced an unforeseen professional schedule conflict pop up; thus, I will have to reschedule our agreed upon inspection of the Malevcon mining site."

Very pleased that she had problems of any kind, Hank ingenuously replied, "Oh dear, Lady Ruth; why, perhaps we'll just have to cancel the whole thing!"

Ruth explained, "Not at all, Mr. Wessel. We just need to reschedule it for an earlier date."

The lesser side of outraged, Hank repeated, "Earlier?" Firmly, Hank continued, "I am sorry, Lady Ruth, but that would be out of the question!"

Politely, Ruth requested, "Mr. Wessel, please be reasonable." She explained, "My geologist will be taking a prearranged professional sabbatical from her university position that begins at the commencement of the University's reading week in mid-February. She has a small window of time free to inspect Malevcon's facility before she commences her studies."

Returning her politeness, Hank stated, "Gosh darn, that is inconvenient, Lady Ruth, perhaps it would be best to schedule the inspection for after her return. Would her return be later this year or maybe not until the next one?"

Ruth demanded, "Mr. Wessel, I really must insist that you find the time to receive my geologist on February 23rd!"

Shocked, Hank repeated, "February 23rd!" He knew an earlier date like that could be disastrous. He complained, "Why we won't be set-up . . . I mean, we are undergoing some . . . shaft relocations and machinery . . . maintenance – a total equipment overhaul . . . through that period. The place will be a mess. It will be totally unsafe!"

Businesslike, Ruth responded, "Well, if that is your final answer, then I will alert both the media and the shareholders, informing them that you cannot accommodate us with a rescheduling."

Hank angrily complained, "I diarized what _you_ told me – March 16th! I am starin' at the page with that date set as yer inspection date, Lady _Ruth_!" He wanted to swear at her, but emphasized her name as if it were a swear word instead.

"Yes, Mr. Wessel, I recall you writing it into a notebook of some kind," replied Ruth.

Although Ferengson had finished his report over a week ago, Ruth did not know that. Hank stated, "Well then, you'll also recall that you assured me your people would wait for my man Ferengson to complete a report on the area."

Ruth doubted that there were any real problems, and decided to try a different approach. She said, "Mr. Wessel, I would prefer to speak candidly, sir. Would that be acceptable to you?"

Hank smiled and replied, "Well now, Lady Ruth, I do believe that whenever ya got sumthin' nasty to say, ya gotta pitter-patter and get right at 'er!"

Unimpressed by his slangy reply, Ruth remarked, "Yes, well sir, that's hardly Oscar Wilde, but I understand it almost as easily."

Trying to distract her, he jokingly questioned, "Oscar Meyer? What's the hot dog guy got to do with this?"

"Oscar _Wilde_ ," repeated Ruth.

Playfully, Hank continued, "Yeah, I heard ya, but what has _Olivia_ Wilde got to do with this – other than that she's a Brit like you?"

"She's from New York I believe, sir," began Ruth. Then she thought to ask, "Tell me, Mr. Wessel, do you wear a hearing aid?"

She had just provided him with an excuse. Feigning a hearing problem, he replied, "Uh, come agin?"

Raising her voice, Ruth repeated, "Do you wear a hearing aid?"

Almost laughing, he replied, "Jeez, you know, I can't hear ya very well coz my hearin' aid is on the fritz and an 18-wheeler just drove by."

Loudly, but polite, Ruth stated, "I'll wait until you're ready then!"

"Listen, why dontcha just wait 'til the truck's gone," shouted Hank, and then covered the mouthpiece in case he started laughing.

Exasperated, Ruth responded, "Good idea."

Hank paused to recompose himself. He knew he could not keep joking: her request to reschedule had shocked him into avoiding the topic. He would have to answer to her request eventually. A moment later, he asked, "So, whaddya have to say that's candid, Lady Ruth?"

"We both knew," began Ruth, sincerely, "that I would not accept any dalliance on your geologist's behalf in producing his report."

Grudgingly, Hank responded, "I guess I could agree with that statement."

Ruth continued, "We also both knew that he would create that delay at your secret request."

She had just been extremely candid, causing Hank to pause a few seconds before he replied, "Well; now we come round to it like a dog to his own dirt . . ."

Ruth interrupted, "Spare me your imagery, sir!"

"Why, Lady Ruth," began Hank, with a smile, "y'all done said ya like candour."

Firmly, she remarked, "Sir, I do not wish to endure any more of your stalling tactics." Then she quickly threatened, "Unless you can provide me with a worthwhile reason for February 23rd being unsuitable, then I will instruct my team of two to depart for Peru and to perform a full inspection of the extant mining facility at Nazca. I will instruct them to arrive at the mine for the inspection at 10 AM on the Monday morning of February 23rd." She paused, and then asked, "Do we have an accord, sir?"

While he tried to think of an excuse, he replied, "An accordion? Now what in the heck would I do with one o' those, Lady?"

Not accepting any more delays or excuses, Ruth clarified, and asked, "Do we have an _agreement_ , sir?"

Still stalling, Hank threw a question her way, jokingly asking, "What; no _'please'_ in front of the _sir_? That's so unlike you, Lady Ruth."

Ceding to his diversionary request, Ruth asked, "Do we have an agreement _please_ , sir?"

Hank ingenuously sighed, and then replied, "Well, even though it doesn't sound like y'all _mean_ it, I suppose we could." Then he lied again, "But I want you to know that I think the Malevcon shareholders deserve more respect!"

Confirming, she asked, "You will be prepared then, to meet my request on that morning?"

"We'll be ready," replied the General, and then he hung up the phone. He understood that short replies frequently told more than one truth; thus, his response described his plan perfectly: his men would strive to make ready illegally, that which needed to appear readily legal. _The bitch pushed me to it!_

He picked up his cell phone and called Chuck.

With some desperation in his voice, Hank said, "Chuck, speak to me, son! Tell me you are close to diggin' out our special area!"

With enthusiasm, Chuck answered, "Yes, sir!" Then he explained, "I anticipate completion of that task in three weeks as per our schedule!"

Nervously, Hank explained, "That's great, son, but I just got off the phone with that English Lady Ruth bitch, and I had to agree to let her move the inspection up – she's sendin' two people to inspect on the 23rd of February now!"

Confident, Chuck stated, "That would be cutting it close, but it should not be an issue, sir!"

"I appreciate that, Chuck," said Hank, calming down. "I think I'm as confident as y'all, but I still needed to warn ya, and to hear ya tell me that!"

"Sir, I accepted the drill delivery this morning and stowed it in a warehouse in Nazca. I will make sure it remains hidden there until after the inspection!"

Gaining confidence, Hank remarked, "Excellent, Chuck!" Then he asked, "Now, what do you recommend for the excavated space where the drill has to go eventually?"

"Sir, could you clarify?"

"Well, I guess I mean . . . will it be hard to cover up from pryin' eyes? If ya know what I mean!"

"I see, sir!" answered Chuck knowingly. "No, it will not be hard, but I would prefer to allow my crew to depart the area at the original agreed upon completion point, due to their . . . special status. I believe your geologist could complete the cover-up task alone."

When Chuck paused, Hank remembered that he promised to allow Chuck's work team to leave immediately after the post-blasting excavation ended. They needed to leave as soon as possible because many of them had criminal records. They were a mercenary crew who Chuck sub-contracted upon occasion to perform various jobs: they should not remain in Peru for longer than necessary. Ferengson could stay to create a 'façade'.

Hank responded, "Uh, agreed Chuck. I promise you that you can send yer team home when ya told 'em ya would. I think the doctor can do it, if you say he can." Then he changed tones and asked, "And while on the subject, how has his . . . behaviour been?"

Chuck knew that the General meant 'has he tried to be with a woman yet?' and answered, "Perfect citizen, so far, sir. I anticipate no problems. I smother him with attention. I even told him you hired me because you feared for his life!"

Laughing, Hank inquired, "How'd you convince him o' that?"

"I told Ferengson that the government had spies who would be unhappy to find out someone in their ranks took a bribe to let him inspect first. He then believed his life was in danger every place he inspected!"

Impressed, Hank said, "Shit, son, that's a good one! Especially since it's probably true anyways – buncha money-grubbin' swines need it to pay fer their drug habits and mistresses, I don't doubt!" Hank continued laughing, but then grew serious and added, "Anyways, good work, son . . . but I'll need you to stick around fer those few extra days until this all passes . . . to supervise . . . if you know what I mean!"

Chuck understood that the General would not trust Ferengson until the English bitch's team had completed their inspection and were flying home. This would be especially so if there were any Western females involved in the inspection.

Chuck commented, "Certainly, sir! I can remain for the duration . . . at the usual rate."

Hank praised him, saying, "Good to hear, son; yer a true team leader, Chuck. Keep sendin' me progress reports about yer excavation. I have to call Ferengson now and tell him the _good_ news."

They ended the call, and so Hank called Ferengson, and immediately stated, "Doctor; Wessel here. I appreciate the hard work I know yer doin' but I have an update on the inspection date that Limey bitch requested."

Slightly concerned, Ferengson replied, "Oh, yes?"

"Yeah, she's moved her people up to the 23rd of February in the mornin'. Nothin' I could do but agree or face her goddamn media freak show agin!" He explained, "We can't have any more negative publicity. It's like she knows my plans or somethin' – she knows what she can get away with!"

"She seems quite cunning, General, but not to worry. I will begin preparing a suitable façade for the new space immediately," began Sven. "Incidentally, if you are sending a drill . . ."

"No worries, doctor," interrupted Hank. "I'm ahead on that one. The drill will not appear until after the bitch's shit storm clears." Then he changed topics, asking, "So tell me, whaddya think o' Chuck's handiwork?"

Unreservedly, Sven answered, "Excellent, General. He certainly knows what he's doing. He has already concluded his first blasting stage and has a second slated for tomorrow, I believe."

"Good to hear, good to hear. All right, doctor, I'll sign off with that. Just keep me posted as to what you are gonna do to hide the area, savvy?"

"Fine, sir!"

They ended the call and Hank gulped the remainder of his whisky. After he poured another drink, Hank spotted his brass chessboard across the room and walked towards it.

As he admired the ivory and ebony pieces on it, he thought about how cheaply he had acquired the two sets. The ebony set he bought through Chuck from one of the former gunnery sergeant's underworld connections. Chuck certified that every piece in the set came from the black market in Madagascar.

Chuck had explained that apparently, after the federal government lost control of things over there in 2009, both the poor and opportunistic folks alike went on a tree-cutting frenzy and local ebony became cheap for a while. _If they cut it all down, then this set becomes rare the next day!_

He picked up the ebony Queen and admired it for a moment. Then, he put that piece down and picked up the ivory King. He recalled that if buying the ebony set cheap was his 'covert coup', then Hank's acquisition of the ivory set was an 'overt takeover'! He had purchased this set through Chuck as well, but it came out of China.

Hank laughed when he thought about the international trade group that 'guarded' endangered species. They had granted China 'approved buyer' status a few years back. Hank laughed, thinking to himself that people in that heathen country would cut the body parts off anything to enhance their sex lives! He was certain they had done so with endangered species without stopping, right up to their being granted 'approved' status.

"Those bullshit regulators couldn't control a bunch of peace commies at a hippie love in," said Hank aloud, then he laughed and sipped from his glass of whisky. He was sure that a regulatory group like that wanted the rest of the world to _believe_ it was protecting endangered species, but what it really did was slow down the extinction rate so its more sensible members – like the richer Chinese folks – could make a profit.

He decided to salute his counterparts, the 'well-cloaked profiteers of the ivory trade'. In adoration, he stated, "A toast to you all – you closet capitalists! Kill all the elephants and the value of my set triples overnight!"

He admired his entire collection as it sat permanently at attention, as if awaiting his instructions. He imagined himself as the ivory King on one side of the board and Ruth as the ebony Queen on the other.

Again, he spoke, saying, "Yeah, you can do it all Queen Bitch, but ya ain't winnin' nothin' without the Boss King!"

As he thought about Ruth's phone call from earlier, Hank began to feel a bit disoriented. He counted the whiskies he had had, and realized the alcohol was perhaps the cause. Undaunted by his addled state, he continued thinking.

He thought about the media and the shareholders and that they reminded him of the pawns on his brass chessboard. Just like in an actual chess game, these real pawns could come back to haunt him later, as Ruth had inferred.

Hank nodded his head and concluded quickly that if he had just given her the authority to mobilize her troops three weeks early, then he should do something similar. He picked up his special cell phone.

Once connected, Hank stated, "Tigris Panthera, this is Heinz 57. I need you to move up the date of our agreement to February 20th – no later, ya hear?"

Tigris acknowledged the request, and agreed to it. They ended the call. Hank produced one of his illegal Cuban cigars from his desk and thought about the first time he met Ruth.

He had just retired and the person who introduced them identified him as _General_ Hank Wessel; after all, that is what everyone knew him as. Ruth, however, made a point of identifying him as a 'civilian now' and addressed him as ' _Mister_ ' throughout their discussion. It had really pissed Hank off.

He topped up his whisky glass to the brim; lit up the cigar; and shouted, "That's _General_ Wessel to you, you . . . and before long you will address me as _Senator_ Wessel!"

Enjoying that his room had soundproofing, Hank bellowed, "I'm comin' for you, bitch! Yer nothin' but a herder of sheep, but I am the slaughterhouse, and yer about to have an accident in it!"

### Chapter 20: At school – Aurica – February 13 and 14

On the day before Valentine's, Joe sat at his grade 7 school desk and daydreamed about simpler times. He recalled that up to grade 5, everyone gave each classmate a cheap card about the size of a post-it note. The messages were crappy and fake. Joe thought someone who failed greeting card school wrote them.

Despite how insincere Valentine's Day had been up to then, nevertheless Joe felt nostalgic about it now. It had had an upside: every kid received the _same_ shitty message from every other kid – the shit was non-discriminatory.

Then Joe recalled that in grade 6 last year he received no messages indicating amorous intent from anyone on Valentine's Day (shitty or not). Apparently, the other students had submitted him to the club of lonely hearts. He knew he was not the only one, but loneliness only knows itself: it was not about how the other guy felt; it was about how you yourself felt.

As he sat in his seat, Joe smiled at Natalia, who sat diagonally across from him. In this class they sat in groups of six, with each of six desks pushed together to form one large rectangle. With this layout, students could see the faces of at least three others at all times.

He had heard that this seating arrangement was the latest in improved educational technique – _whatever!_ Joe would rather look at a pretty girl's face than the back of her head any day. He was thrilled when, earlier in the week, Ms. Coulston had changed the seating plan: she moved Natalia to Joe's table. _It was almost as if Ms. Coulston knew his secret desires!_

As he sat not listening to the Geography lesson, Joe decided to write his own Valentine's card for Natalia. He was certain it should contain no overt signs of intended affection. Although he felt confident that she liked him, until she gave him a much clearer sign, Joe would continue to play it cool.

He wrote on plain paper, ' _Roses are red and violets are blue, Geography is boring – Do you think so too?_ ' He slipped her the note diagonally across his desk to her, while the two other girls who sat in front of him and to his right, giggled.

At first Natalia appeared to blush a bit, but after she read it, she stifled a snort. In turn, this almost caused Joe to laugh. He had grown to enjoy her snort because to him, it seemed so genuine. It was as if she was most alive and happy when snorting. He had long since resolved to cause her a daily snort if he could.

Natalia nodded in agreement with his note; rolled her eyes for reinforcement; and then blew out of her mouth upwards so that her hair rose as she did it. He felt that her last airy gesture had the stamp of boredom to it.

Eventually, Geography books went away and Math books came out. Joe always enjoyed math, because it came easily to him: he never had to study. He recalled that when Ms. Coulston had asked him to be a peer tutor, he accepted: he had done this for years. He was thrilled when he found out that his student was Natalia Yakushev.

Like everyone else in class today, he had to focus on learning the material in the new unit: he helped Natalia catch up on old work during lunchtime. Apparently, her American curriculum had been a bit different from the Ontario one.

As soon as Ms. Coulston introduced the new material, Joe started to daydream as usual – he could easily do grade 10 math so he barely stayed awake for grade seven math.

Joe's mind began to wander. He imagined himself as the King of Mathematics. He saw his subjects all bowing in his royal presence. Then he saw himself encouraging them to rise again so that he could introduce his queen . . . his Queen, Natalia!

"Joe," began Ms. Coulston, interrupting his daydream. "Could you answer this question for us?"

Joe snapped to attention, glanced at the question on the board and in a heartbeat, answered, "42!"

Everyone in the room gasped when Ms. Coulston said, "Correct! That's amazing, Joe!"

Joe had long since stopped basking in the glory over his math successes. Instead, he sheepishly smiled and returned to his daydreaming. Later, as the math period wound down, Joe suddenly realized he needed to use the washroom.

He asked, "Excuse me, Ms., can I go to the bathroom?"

"Certainly, Joe," replied the teacher.

Just after that, a fellow student grabbed Joe's arm and asked, "How do you do it, Joe?"

Quietly, he answered, "Well, I always start by unzipping, eh – otherwise it makes a real mess."

Then, Joe walked through the door, down the hall, and into the boys' washroom. He did what he had to do and afterwards went to wash his hands. As he divined how to get the soap out of the dispenser, as usual, he looked in the mirror.

First, he flexed his biceps and examined the results in the mirror: they looked like two thin cords of red rope. _Needs a little work!_

He rinsed his hands, dried them and then returned to the mirror. _I could be taller._ Then he went up on his tippy toes and came back down. _Needs a lot of work!_

Undaunted, he smiled at his reflection, but saw the hole where his tooth used to be. _Needs a shitload of work!_

He returned to class where Ms. Coulston had begun to teach the last subject of the day – French. He knew he would have to pay attention because language was his weakest subject. As he sat down, he looked nervously at other students' workbooks to see what he had missed. Instead, Joe noticed that many kids had passed Valentine greetings to each other while he was in the can. Did they wait until he left to pass them out? Was it grade six all over again?

He calmed down briefly when he realized that no matter what had happened while he was gone; the school day would soon be over. After all, it was Friday and, whether he received a Valentine's Day card or not, he had two days off to get over any disappointment!

Then he realized that if Lovers' Day was the 14th, then today was the 13th – Friday the 13th! He knew that numerical superstitions were ridiculously irrational, but suddenly he felt as if the superstitious combination was to blame for his lack of cards.

Throughout the rest of the lesson, Joe continually looked Natalia's way, hoping to see a sign of her potential interest in him. More than once, he glanced at his backpack. In the morning, he had stashed in it, a glossy, red, heart-shaped card pre-embossed with the usual bullshit messages. He had signed the card and everything! _If she gives me one first, I'm ready!_

With ten minutes to go, Joe decided to slip the card into her bag and take his chances. As he reached for the card though, he noticed a female classmate, Sandi, scrutinizing his actions. He froze for a moment, realizing Sandi might be doing this in anticipation that he was going to give _her_ something. _These head games are too much!_

He considered the option of giving the card to Natalia in plain view of Sandi; however, Joe quickly reasoned that if she secretly liked him, and saw him give the card directly to Natalia, she'd be pissed! Worse, if Sandi subsequently discovered that Natalia had later rejected him, she might enjoy alerting the rest of the school population of the fact. Girls could be nasty like that, and such an embarrassment would be intolerable. If that happened, Joe reasoned he would have no other choice than to kill himself. Rationalizing that he did not want to die before kissing at least one girl, Joe tactfully decided to wait.

As Ms. Coulston asked students to pack their bags during the last five minutes of class, Natalia slipped Joe a note. He read it to himself, 'Call me tonight about coming to visit me tomorrow!'

When the bell rang, Joe jumped up and rushed outside. Joe grew elated as he jogged home because not only had Natalia provided him with a hint at romance, she had used an exclamation mark! An exclamation mark meant 'love', and this relieved him as well, because now he would probably live another day or two.

The exclamation mark convinced Joe that Natalia wanted to take their friendship to the next level! Since he had already named their future blonde-haired children a few weeks ago, it made sense to Joe that they should begin the actual romance at once!

Time proceeded slowly after that, and later, when at last they spoke that evening, Natalia requested he visit her after dinner tomorrow, from six to nine. He asked for permission from his foster parents, who turned out to have planned a rare Saturday at home; thus, Joe did not have to babysit! It was a date!

The next morning, Joe arose determined to shower up early for his big date later. His foster mother, Joan, expressed concern because Saturday was laundry day and she was unused to a water supply competition. At first, Joe panicked but when his foster brother James asked him to play hockey on the driveway, instead Joe saw the bright side. He rationalized that he should freshen up as _late_ in the day as possible. In fact, he resolved to use mouthwash after brushing and flossing his teeth. He usually only brushed: he would go all out for Natalia!

He felt so positive throughout the early day that with glee he let James win all the games they played together. He even allowed the twins to dress him up – as Santa. After all, even their version of Santa was a guy! Eventually, he had a tepid shower; scrubbed himself clean; and then fulfilled his dental mandate.

Joan drove him to Natalia's farmhouse, which was three streets to the east; Joe thanked her; and then agreed to be ready for a pickup at 9 pm. She drove off immediately when she saw that someone had opened the door to receive him.

As she stood in the front doorway, Natalia declared, "Hey, Joe, I've got a surprise for you!" Joe hesitated because, although he knew what he wanted her to say, he could not believe it was about to come true.

"I'm ready for a surprise," said Joe, as calmly as he could manage.

Before she let him in, Natalia quietly explained, "Alright then, I want you to follow me down the stairs, and when we get to the door at the bottom, I want you to close your eyes. Okay?"

Perhaps her father was upstairs listening and they needed to be quiet

Quietly and slowly, he answered, "I'll . . . do it!"

She led him forward into the house until they came to a stairwell down. Joe scanned the thirteen stairs to the basement. It was a short distance for him, but he found that his mind leaped giant strides back in time with each step he took. Each step suddenly represented a week from his most recent life history.

He had lived with his foster parents for thirteen weeks, and now he recalled the challenges he had faced each week. His whole life flashed before him with each step!

He recalled surviving dress up with the twins; losing regularly at sports to a 4-year old; seemingly endless and unpaid babysitting assignments; and how uncle Bear Claw had not been able to visit much because of the North American economy still sagging.

He recalled seeing the stunning Natalia for the first time in school; being stunned himself when she appeared in his karate class a few weeks later; and lastly, her precious and incomparable snort.

Natalia was like a butt-kicking Lara Croft, except her hair was blond (but he would rob a tomb if she said the word!) She was a Becky Barnes – except her blond hair was short (but he would not mind putting a sorcerer's spell on her!) She was his Jordan Two Delta – except her hair was curly (but he could handle being marooned on an island with her anytime!)

One day he would have Captain America's ripped abdominals, Cyclops' good looks, and Ironman's cash. Until then, Natalia would have to settle for his freshly rinsed, Listerine-enhanced (tropical-flavoured), smile.

Finally, he considered the last step. It was another small step, but a giant leap for his heart. He wondered if his heart was going from the Earth to the Moon but it was merely pounding hard. Joe felt certain Natalia was the female he could go five weeks in a balloon with, or even 20,000 leagues under the sea. He would journey to the center of the Earth too, if she commanded it. In fact, if she said he had to go around the world in 80 days without the aid of an airplane, well then Joe Painted Sun would succeed or die trying!

Commanding him with a whisper, Natalia said, "Okay now, close your eyes."

He did so and heard his heart pound so loud he missed the door creaking.

She demanded, "Now take a step forwards with one, then the other leg."

He did so and his heart was a war hammer, his chest the forge, she the blacksmith.

"Now, when I say so, open your eyes . . ."

"I will do it," interrupted Joe, and his orbs were lava and he a talking volcano.

Almost causing his eruption, she asked, "What do you want _most_ in the world to do at this moment Joe?"

He began; "Oh Natalia, I want to kiss . . ."

He stopped speaking when in front of his eyes Joe saw a massive laboratory with computers and scientific equipment. In the middle of this magnificent room, there stood a smiling man in a white laboratory coat and Joe could instantly detect the family resemblance: Natalia's father. Rather stunned, Joe continued, "Uh . . . kiss . . . the sky and the heavens! Yeah . . . Natalia . . . I mean what a surprise. I am so . . . happy . . . you brought me here!"

The man responded, "Natalia said you'd be impressed, Joe. I'm glad you like it. I am Anton, Natalia's father and I understand that you have a gift for mathematics. I could use a talented mathematician in my scientific research. Natalia tells me you are also interested in science. Is that correct?"

Instantly ecstatic, Joe replied, "Oh . . . yeah! I would love to be involved in science or math one day." After a pause and some thought, Joe asked, "Uh, did you say 'Anton', as in Anton Yakushev?"

Guardedly, Anton answered, "Absolutely, that is my name, Joe"

Jubilantly, Joe stated, "Cool! You're an astrophysicist aren't you? I mean, shouldn't I be calling you 'professor' or 'doctor'?"

Cheerily, Anton replied, "I am not a professor, I'm afraid, Joe!"

Joe continued, "Too cool, Natalia! I mean, I guess I could have put the names together before now, eh? Not that many Yakushevs in Aurica's thin telephone directory, I'm sure." Joe laughed, and then slapped his head with a 'Doh!'

He almost forgot about his anticipated amorous event. However, there was plenty of time for that later. Perhaps it was not happening here tonight, but its replacement was awesome.

He looked around at all the equipment. He imagined his love was Captain of the USS Enterprise. He assessed damage – his starboard nacelles might have been shattered, but he still had impulse power, and the ship was out of danger.

Anton explained, "Anyways, Joe, it is nice to be recognized, especially since I doubt you were alive when I was still famous."

Joe exclaimed, "Wow! Look at all this equipment! Do you use it all?"

Nodding, Anton replied, "Absolutely, Joe, and most of it regularly."

"Cool! I sure would like to watch you in action sometime!"

With a smile, Anton questioned, "Just watch?" Then he added, "No, no, no, Joe – I insist that you help!"

Amazed, Joe replied, "Help? I think I'm gonna faint, eh!"

Anton teased, "No fainting allowed!" Then he suggested, "You can start tonight if you like!"

Natalia complained, "Dad! Joe came to visit _me_ tonight!"

Enthusiastically, Anton explained, "Certainly he did, my dear! That is why I left this clipboard and empty piece of paper upon it – so you could record our findings, and be very involved too! What do you think? Good idea?"

"Well, _I_ think so," stated Joe, apparently fully recovered. Natalia remained non-committal for a moment, but then smiled at them both and agreed to join the pair.

"Excellent," began Anton. Then he explained, "Usually, Joe, I am rather secretive about my work; however, a good friend of mine suggested I bring in fresh new blood."

"Ew dad," complained Natalia, totally grossed out. "Have you taken up vampirism down here in the dark?"

Joe suggested, "It would be more like creating Frankenstein's monster actually. I mean, with all this equipment, eh."

Anton caught on to the joke at last. He decided to answer in a deadpan style, and said, "Oh yes, and if you come down here on Halloween, I'll turn into the Wolfman for you!"

Natalia protested, "Dad!"

Continuing in the same tone, Anton quipped, "Sorry! I'll turn both of _you_ into lycanthropes!"

Quickly, Natalia asked, "Is that like a cantaloupe?"

"Uh, no," replied Anton quickly, "never mind!"

Not trying to hide his voice, Joe whispered to Natalia, explaining, "Werewolves!"

Natalia teasingly remarked, "That's not very funny, dad."

Admiringly, Joe quipped, "Very creepy though."

With candour, Anton asked, "Are you ready to take me seriously now then?"

Emphatically, Joe exclaimed, "Yes!"

Empathetically, Natalia replied, "Yes." She had easily detected Joe's keenness, and wanted her new best friend to enjoy the evening.

"Alright then," began the doctor, "I'm working on something radical, that no one else is, and I am close to perfecting it."

Surprised and intrigued, Natalia inquired, "Really, dad?"

Exhilarated, Joe remarked, "Sweet!"

### Chapter 21: Alejandro – Peruvian mountains – February 18

After Alejandro bypassed the signal on his electronic wristband, he reviewed his notepad as he continued walking. A week ago, he watched a television show called _Sherlock Holmes_. Since then, he had carried a notepad with him to record any clues he found: finding clues was suddenly important in his life.

As he walked, Alejandro read his notes from last Saturday. On that day, his newest mystery began. That day, he found the enormous fence. He read his entry about the signs on the fence. His notes read:

Saturday February 14

Sign on fence:

WARNING: KEEP OUT! This site protected by Rodriguez Bros. Ltd. Business Security Systems.

Discoveries:

_\- found one 'HUMVEE'_ _automobile in parking lot_

\- threw a rock at fence

\- heard a loud alarm and saw flashing red lights

\- armed security guard showed up after 9 minutes

He flipped the page and examined his next entry – he noted the differences.

Sunday February 15

Discoveries:

\- no car

\- threw rock – same result

\- 47 minutes later – car arrives – Toyota

\- armed Rodriguez Bros. security guard

Alejandro stopped to write _'Important''_ beside the number 47 to illuminate the vast difference in response time.

He started walking again but stopped when he reread, 'armed' before the words 'security guard' in both places. He circled 'armed' and wrote _'Important!'_ beside the circle.

When he resumed walking, Alejandro flipped to the back of his notepad where he had recorded the Internet details he discovered about the place he was visiting. Malevcon Mining Ltd. was a Canadian-owned, gold mining operation that set up in Peru in 2008. _No wonder they have a huge security fence around the site: it is a gold mine!_

He had learned in his science lessons that gold – symbol _Au_ on the periodic table – was usually the most valuable metal on Earth and thus it made sense to protect it.

He closed his notepad and picked up his pace. Although this was his third trip to Malevcon, he had not seen any sign of workers so far. He understood that mines needed workers. In case he eventually decided to perform a detailed search here, he had to determine the hours of operation so that he could search when no one was around.

By his own estimation, he was still half a kilometre away from the fences when he heard a faint blast and felt a mild tremor in the ground. This alarmed him, but he knew he needed to be strong and carry on – he had serious mysteries to solve.

After the blast, Alejandro crouched low as he approached the mine and stopped at his previous hiding place. From two hundred metres, he did not need the zoom lens in his camera to detect that there were over a dozen human beings walking around within the fences. He expected to find people eventually, nevertheless, seeing them all so close now overwhelmed him. ¡Caramba!

He listened carefully from his hiding spot and could detect the occasional Spanish word. He would love to run up and say _'_ ¡Hola _amigos!'_ to them, but he could not risk it. Since he had a contagious disease, he knew that it would be wrong to expose them to risk. He continued to watch and wait.

As he watched so many people moving around the site, Alejandro wondered what time they would stop working. So far, his detective activities had told him that Malevcon's miners did not work Saturdays or Sundays, but they worked weekdays. _For how long?_ He knew he could only conduct his third test of the security system with no one around.

He looked at his timepiece and it showed 2:20 PM. He resolved to head home for lunch, and to return around the time he thought they would leave for their evening meals. He turned around, crept away to a safe distance, and then ran home.

Alejandro remained excited throughout lunch, but realized he had several hours to go before the dinner hour. He decided, since he had been neglecting his language lessons of late, that he should continue with them now.

As he recited his Mandarin lesson, Alejandro noticed himself pacing again and yet normally he found language learning calming. He needed to remain calm because twelve days ago his guardians had disappeared.

For as long as Alejandro could remember, one guardian had always been present in his life, but twelve days ago when he awoke, neither one was in the dwelling, nor had either shown up since!

The first day that neither guardian came, he obeyed the rules and stayed close to the dwelling. On the second day, he wondered if his guardians were testing his obedience. By the third day, he became nervous and wondered if he should explore outside the perimeter. On day four, he decided to leave the dwelling and search beyond the perimeter area. He was fortunate to have succeeded months ago in bypassing the electronic signal to his wristband. He could secretly cross the boundary whenever he chose.

The first place he considered looking was his guardians' workplace in the mountain. Half way through his walk to their laboratory entrance, he experienced a flashback about their potential surveillance system. He recalled that when he had spied on Paul last October he had grown paranoid at the thought of those inside spying on him.

After thinking this, and combined with his knowing that he had a severely contagious disease, Alejandro had concluded that he should not return to their lab unless he became desperate.

More recently again, Alejandro had spent the next three days exploring areas to the south and east. He wondered if an animal had attacked them or they had fallen from a high height. Despite his searching, he had found no trace of his guardians.

By the eighth day, he searched northwest of his dwelling and found Malevcon. He returned Sunday, the next day. He planned to return to the site on Monday, but a combination of rain and fog disrupted his plans that day and yesterday. He still had not found any trace of his guardians. _What a mystery!_

As he continued pacing in his dwelling, Alejandro suddenly experienced a worrisome thought. _What if my spying on that day back in October caused their disappearance?_ He had walked very close to his guardians' laboratory in the mountainside that day. Had he caused an illness by contaminating their research area? If he caused one illness, had it spread? Had he killed everyone in the facility? If so, then his guardians were dead!

Alejandro had remained strong the whole time during his guardians' absence, but now he concluded that he had caused their deaths! He began to cry. He cried for several minutes.

Eventually his grief turned to despair: he realized that without his guardians' research _he_ would die soon. _No one can cure me now!_ If he died soon, he would never experience the things he had dreamed of doing. Then his despair transformed into panic. He realised he had no idea how his disease would progress. _Will my limbs rot?_ _Will my eyes fall out?_ _Will my brain explode?_

He had to stop thinking this way. He needed a new distraction. He turned on the TV and selected the Space channel. He watched a movie for a few minutes until a scene in it showed a medical recovery facility. A character lay on a bed with blood oozing out of both ears. Alejandro turned the TV off faster than he had ever turned it on.

Aloud he said, "I really need to stay away from scary movies for a while!"

Alejandro thought about his guardians again. What did his guardians do for him to make him feel better when he was sad? When he scraped his knee that time, Eva gave him ice cream. He went to the fridge freezer and served himself an extra large bowl full of ice cream.

As he ate, he thought about them again. What would they want him to do in their absence, if he could not search for them at their lab? At present, he could not think of a better answer than to keep on with his language lessons. He enjoyed them, and they were a productive way to spend his time while he waited to return to the mine.

He had started with Mandarin a few minutes ago. He recalled that Eva had told him that Mandarin had three times the number of speakers than any other language, and that China was an important economic power. Alejandro did not enjoy his Mandarin lessons and opted to pass on Mandarin this afternoon.

Eva had said English was important because it was the language of technology. It was prevalent on the Internet and TV. He decided to pass on English this afternoon, because he felt he was learning that language quickly and easily enough.

Eva had told him to continue improving his Spanish because it was the dominant tongue in the area and besides it had in excess of 350 million speakers worldwide. Spanish was very easy for him to learn though, and he opted to pass on it as well – he wanted a challenge!

Finally, he decided to continue with his French lesson while he waited. Eva had explained that the United Nations used French as the language of diplomacy. The United Nations required its linguistic translators to speak French as a universal fail safe – French was the language that all diplomats had to know.

Alejandro selected a CD; placed it in the player; and pressed the start button. He heard a female voice speak in French, ' _écouter et répéter_ '. Alejandro mentally translated, 'listen and repeat'. He continued with his French lesson for 20 minutes.

When the lesson ended, he thought about Eva again, and how the second last time she had spoken to him, she had encouraged Alejandro to learn an Indian dialect, but the last time he saw her she had yet to select between a Hindi or an Urdu dialect – there were so many from which to choose!

He turned on the TV and this time selected a safe show. He picked Bugs Bunny in English with Spanish subtitles. He rationalized that if he was going to end his formal lessons after only 20 minutes, then watching Bugs was a reasonable compromise, because he was learning English as he watched.

After he watched this, he looked at his timepiece – 4:10. He still had at least an hour to wait, by his estimation. He changed the channel to a different kid's channel, where he found a Japanese 'anime' film called _Akira_. It had Spanish subtitles also, but the Japanese language sounded vaguely like Mandarin to him.

As he watched, he determined that although Japanese had similar issues to the Mandarin he struggled with, nevertheless with the aid of pictures and a story, he could listen to the various inflections of this new language in their proper context!

Alejandro decided to keep watching the film because it was a challenge! He soon discovered he was able to learn Japanese from the Spanish subtitles, and translate its words into English for fun as he went! _What a great way to spend an afternoon!_

After the film ended, it was 5:30. Alejandro grabbed his backpack, packed fruit, water, and his notepad in it; added a flashlight and his trusty camera; and then, burst out the door feeling confident. He ran most of the way to Malevcon, but slowed as he approached it.

He crouched, well hidden, for several minutes, and observed the site through his zoomed camera lens. The workers must have left because Alejandro noticed just one car in the parking lot. Obviously as before, this belonged to a security guard.

When he finished his camera surveillance, Alejandro decided it was time to perform his last test. Before he headed to the fence, however, he needed to record his findings. He slipped through the encroaching darkness in the shadows and noted the car was the same Humvee as before.

He stealthily returned to his throwing spot and hurled the rock. Again, the ear-splitting loudness of the alarm shocked him despite his knowing by now that it would happen. As he saw the flashing red lights, he rushed to his hiding place and began his timer.

Eventually, he noticed a flashlight emerging from the main gate, and wrote in his notepad that it only took the security guard 6 minutes to arrive. He thought the guard resembled the one from Saturday in that he had no moustache also. The guard on Sunday did. Once he saw the guard return within the main gate and turn off his flashlight, Alejandro ran home.

That was much better than watching TV!

Once he arrived home, he analyzed his new data and concluded that Sunday's slow response time was significant. _Could I get in and out of there this Sunday without being caught?_

He ate a meal, and then headed to shower himself about 7 PM. While showering, Alejandro heard a very loud noise from overhead. He had heard airplanes before, but infrequently and only from afar. This overhead noise however, was close. He identified it as a whirring noise. For a few seconds, he thought it might be his guardians returning at last to explain to him their lengthy absence! Then he realized it could be someone from the mine coming to harm him!

He turned the water off and stood quietly listening. The noise grew ferociously loud and Alejandro proportionately more frightened as this happened. Then, as quickly as it grew, the noise began to fade.

He continued to stand soaking wet but motionless until the noise faded away completely. He stood in the tub with the light blue-coloured shower curtain still shut, and with the powder blue, tiled wall surrounding him. He felt safe in this blue cubicle.

When his heart stopped racing, he reached out for a towel. As he dried his arm, he noticed it had turned blue. He recalled a science fiction movie he watched a few days ago called _The Abyss._ During the movie, a woman appeared to drown but later a man saved her. When she appeared drowned, Alejandro recalled her skin turned blue – although not _this_ blue!

As he began to rub his arm harder, he could feel dryness, yet his skin remained blue. This was odd because he had no sense of drowning – the idea was silly!

Something was wrong though, because Alejandro's arm was now as blue as the wall tiles. In fact, when he looked below at his legs and feet, they were the same colour blue.

He stepped out of the shower and felt his heart racing again. He looked in the mirror and saw he was blue from top to bottom!

He understood the normal changes of puberty, in fact, he could also see some of those changes in the mirror – adult hair under his arms and around his groin – but nothing his guardians had told him about puberty prepared him for this! _Where on Earth had they gone!_

### Chapter 22: One last chat – Malibu – February 19

General Wessel sat at his desk in his renovated smoking room. Moments ago, he decided to christen the room, 'the bunker'. Soldiers protected themselves from the enemy in bunkers, and Hank had been a top ranking soldier.

Since he had never needed a bunker during his military career, perhaps it was fitting to have one now that he was about to enter politics. He thought on his campaign manager's words from earlier in the morning. Cliff Kravan had advised him, "Absolutely no scandals during your leadership run – and start saving money, Senator-elect Wessel!"

Hank sat back in his chair savouring the thought of his Senatorial campaign. When he replayed the words 'start saving money' in his head, he realized that he had unfinished business to attend to on that front.

He picked up his cell and called Chuck. He asked, "Chuck, good buddy, how about that report? You know I'm anxious to hear good news!"

Like a soldier, Chuck reported, "Yes, sir! My team and I completed our assignment yesterday afternoon about 14 hundred hours, sir! I blasted one last small section and then sent my team home by chopper last night about 19 hundred hours, sir!"

Inquisitively, Hank asked, "By chopper?"

Chuck explained, "Yes, sir! The Mi-17-1M. You approved my renting it, sir! Very generous of you, sir!"

Unfamiliar with the name, Hank asked, "What in the hell is a 'me seventeen' soldier?"

"Uh, it's a military helicopter, sir!"

His memory refreshed, Hank recalled, "Oh, shit, yeah! O' course, I remember now – to get them outa there pronto!"

"Yes, that's right, sir!"

Hank admitted, "It just sounded kinda funny . . . like a gook name, Chuck."

Chuck explained, "No, sir, it's a Russian built craft."

Worried, Hank asked, "Ruskie? How'd we get hooked into flyin' one o' their craft for yer team?"

Chuck continued, "Well, sir . . . uh, the 1M version is a high altitude variation of the chopper, sir. We needed it for the high elevation – 5,000 feet, remember?"

Hank responded, "Oh, yeah!" Then he reasoned, "Well, I guess they're on our side now. Even so, I liked it a whole lot better when they weren't!"

Perfunctorily, Chuck replied, "Yes, sir! Damn shame, sir!"

Distractedly, Hank explained, "Forgive me, Chuck. I gotta lot on my mind since this morning's news."

Chuck asked, "Anything I can help you with, sir?"

"Actually, Chuck, I needed a different kinda specialist for this task. You see, you are talkin' to a Republican Senator-elect candidate, as of right now!"

"Congratulations, sir!"

"Well thank ya, Chuck," replied Hank, gratefully. "I'll let you know if I need yer . . . specialized services, but for now, I'd like you to tell me that things are ready to go for the Limey broad Clarkson-Smythe on Monday!"

Chuck explained, "From what I have seen, and after a discussion with Dr. Ferengson, sir, I'd say you have nothing to worry about. After my crew completed the task in the afternoon, your doctor began building his façade." Then he suggested, "I recommend you call him next, sir, to ascertain his progress." Then Chuck laughed and added, "And to light a fire under his ass in case!"

"I plan to do just that, Chuck."

"I don't think he'll actually need the reminder, sir. I think he's scared and runnin' – even though he's got no place to go!"

They chuckled together, exchanged rude jokes, and then ended the call.

Hank called Ferengson next.

As if uninformed, Hank inquired, "Doctor, how are things progressing down there?"

"Hello, General," began Ferengson. "I have assumed control of the project as of yesterday afternoon and I will complete it by tomorrow. I will then scrutinize it personally one last time on Sunday morning, prior to the scheduled inspection on Monday."

"Good to hear, doctor. Now, do you have a logistical plan worked out to fool her people well enough on Monday mornin'? From what Clarkson-Smythe said, she's sendin' a coupla broads from one of her do-good groups . . . a woman geologist and her secretary," explained Hank. Then, as a warning, he added, "Apparently Lady Ruth's geologist is the bureaucratic type . . . some old hag school teacher, I hear."

"I see," replied Ferengson neutrally, while smiling at the thought of female inspectors. Casually, he continued, "They should not be a problem. I am personally building a façade to cover up the special area Chuck blasted out, and as you know already, your directional drill is not even on-site yet. It's sitting in a Nazca warehouse awaiting deployment after the geologist completes her inspection . . . another 'piece of cake' General."

Hank warned him, "Yeah, well, remember – no pieces o' 'woman-cake' until you finish this assignment. Agreed, doctor?"

Still smiling, Sven confidently replied, "Of course, sir. Not a problem!"

"Great to hear, doctor," began Hank. Then he reasoned, "Because you know that her people have had successes before."

Ferengson countered, "Yes, but the element of surprise has routinely been in her favour. We know who is coming on this occasion and when. She may have thought rescheduling for three weeks earlier would cause us problems, but it is she who will be surprised!"

Pleased, Hank responded, "Now that's what I want to hear, doctor. Good stuff! I say it's time we get you outa that shithole, _tooty-sweety_."

Jokingly, Sven remarked, "Why, General, I did not know French was one of your languages!"

Hank confided, saying, "Well, I think I may have some _Coon-ass_ in me down the line, doctor, but don't you go tellin' nobody 'bout that. I wouldn't want no one knowin' my granny's granny had Cajun in her. My voters will want me to be as pure of blood as possible."

"Voters, sir? That sounds like you will be involved in an election of some sort," inquired Ferengson.

Beaming at his end, Hank replied, "You, sir, are talkin' to a Senatorial candidate!"

Surprised, Sven stated, "Congratulations, General! Or should I address you as Senator in the future?"

"I'll keep ya posted," answered Hank, and then he ended the call.

Hank sat back in his desk chair and lit up another of his illegal Cuban cigars. The General had almost completed his offensive. He noticed the cigar seemed extra flavourful today!

### Chapter 23: Ruth and Anton – Aurica – February 20

As Ruth drove north rather unwillingly to Anton's house, she recalled how routinely her morning had started, but how frantic and disjointed it had become. She had sat with Uncle Chauncey enjoying a typical winter morning breakfast of sausage, bacon, and egg on toast, and with, of course, tea.

After that, Chauncey had adjourned to the patio to read the daily newspaper and smoke his pipe, while Ruth opened the drapes and the sliding patio doors to air her penthouse. It was sunny and mild – the perfect start to a late winter's morning in north Toronto.

She was reading the entertainment section of the morning paper in her favourite chair when Anton called about a quarter to 10 and disrupted her perfect morning.

As she changed lanes from the slow right side to the medium-speed center to pass a slow truck, Ruth replayed in her mind, Anton's surprising early phone call. It went:

"Hello, Ruth! I hope you are well and I'm glad you're at home!"

"Good morning, Anton! This is a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"Ruth, I need you to visit me today as early as possible!"

"Cannot this wait, Anton? Only, I am due to hold an important meeting here early this afternoon. Then, you see, I have to pack before departing for the airport for my flight bound for Peru."

"I forgot about that! When do you return?"

"I have made vacation arrangements. After fulfilling my obligations, I will be visiting the Nazca Lines before taking in Machu Picchu. I shall be returning two weeks from Monday!"

"Two weeks from . . . but that is 17 days from now!"

"Yes, Anton, a bit of earned pleasure after I complete my business!"

"That will be far too late!"

"Too late for what, may I ask?"

"I could never begin to describe such a complex thing on the phone, Ruth!"

"Well now, Anton, that sounds serious!"

"It is very important that you come, Ruth – urgent even. If you leave by 10 AM, you'll be here by noon, and I promise, I'll have you out of here no later than two!"

"10 AM? But that is in 15 minutes; surely you cannot expect me to ready myself . . ."

"Sorry! Yes, I know it is short notice, but I need you to be here. It can't wait!"

"Can you at least please tell me what 'it' is, so I can make that decision for myself?"

"There isn't time, Ruth! Please do this. Your presence here is critical!"

In the end, she had agreed to visit him but only because she worried about what Anton meant by 'important'. She suspected it was another personal issue between Anton and his daughter. Ruth worried that he needed her direct support with another Natalia problem.

As motorists whizzed by her, Ruth noticed the weather had suddenly changed from sunny and mild to sleet and rain. She tried to focus her thoughts. How unfortunately changeable the weather can be in Ontario!

She returned to wondering what Anton's problem might be. Then she decided that she really should not speculate negatively about it. Instead, she smiled and laughed to herself that she had somehow managed to end their call at 9:50, dress herself in a suitable ensemble by 9:57, and then start her car engine by 10:01 AM! She imagined herself as a competitor in a car rally race, only one that required fashionable clothes!

As Ruth drove responsibly in the right lane, a centre-lane motorist roared by her at a very high speed. Ruth shook her head disapprovingly and continued to think positively about her burgeoning friendship with Anton. She admitted to herself that she relished following along with Natalia's progress. It was nice to feel personally needed. All of her other philanthropic work she conducted from a distance: she rarely met any of the masses of people she helped.

Suddenly another motorist whizzed by at a speed sufficient to cover her windscreen temporarily with a thudding splash of grey slush. It so shocked Ruth that she said aloud, "Oh, bother!"

She wanted to think positively, but this blasted weather combined with her not knowing why she was driving up the bloody #400 highway, caused her to think negatively again. Why had Anton been so uncharacteristically terse in refusing to discuss his reasons for urgently requesting her presence? _This had better be good, Anton!_

She thought again, about how quickly she had left her penthouse. Before she left, she had to enlist her uncle to inform their new employees of her rearranged plans. The team Dr. Henderson jokingly named 'Chauncey's Angels' would now have to meet at the airport for a final review.

She calmed herself when she remembered the flight was over 6 hours in length; thus, she could even review their plan on board the plane. _I am going beyond philanthropy today, Anton!_

Eventually she arrived at his exit in Aurica, turned south, and drove to his driveway turnoff. As she drove down Anton's long and winding driveway, she noticed it was twenty minutes before noon. She saw him emerge through his front door wearing his lab coat beneath which she could see oversized, fur boots. For his _piece de resistance_ , he wore a black ski mask over his face.

In Ruth's imagination, he resembled a guilt-ridden doctor wanting authorities to catch him after his Arctic bank robbery. He was too absurd looking for her to remain cross with, and so she told herself not to mention how much he had inconvenienced her to come here today.

"Good, Ruth, you're early," began Anton, in a business-like manner, as she stepped out of her car. "I may need a few extra minutes in the end!"

With playful cynicism, she replied, "Well, 'hello to you too, Anton' and 'yes, thank you, I have been well, and yes, the drive was lengthy but incident free'!"

"Oh, sorry, Ruth," began Anton. "I hope you are well. Excuse my brusque nature; however, I am incorporating into today's variables your previously stated need to depart as quickly as possible. Your time is very valuable!"

Rather addled by his continual scientific-style speech, Ruth responded, "Well, yes, I am well, and I thank you for considering my schedule in your . . . computations, Anton."

As he guided her into the farmhouse quickly, Anton said, "Yes, Ruth, I appreciate you offering your time today. I predict you will find attending today's demonstration rewarding."

Expecting something quite different, Ruth inquired, "Demonstration, doctor?"

He walked her to the top of the stairs that led down to his basement laboratory. Gesturing as an usher might for her to go down the stairs, he revealed, "I am ready to explain a breakthrough, and then demonstrate it."

Smiling suddenly, Ruth responded, "By all means . . . Doctor Yakushev!" She was imagining a shiny new engine that he would soon show her!

As they entered his lab, he added, "I will avoid the technical aspects and speak of the events as we know them."

Security was a concern with revolutionary jet engines. Ruth repeated, "We?"

From an ersatz looking control room, Natalia shouted, "Hi, Lady Ruth!"

Ruth declared, "It's Friday, Natalia!" She asked, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Then, a male voice unfamiliar to Ruth, emerged from behind Natalia, saying, "That's true, Ma'am, but I suppose this sure beats hell out of school, eh!"

Surprised, Ruth answered, "Indeed!" When a male youngster emerged from behind Natalia, Ruth asked, "And you are?"

Noticing Ruth's surprise, Anton provided a quick introduction, explaining, "Joe, this is Ruth Clarkson-Smythe, my sponsor. Ruth, this is Joe Painted Sun."

Completely confused, Ruth repeated, "Painted Sun? Well, of course . . . I see . . ."

Interrupting, Joe stated, "No, actually, Ma'am, you can't see it."

Still lost, Ruth inquired, "Can't see what, may I ask?"

Joe answered, "My painted sun. You see, it's a birth mark, eh."

Sensing an opportunity to tease Joe a bit, Natalia interrupted, "So _that's_ the secret of your name, Joe. You never told _me_ about it!"

Feeling guilty, Joe replied, "Oh, well, I never had a reason to, I guess."

With one raised eyebrow and a mischievous grin, Natalia continued, " _And_ you never _showed_ me. I mean, I think my best friend would have _showed_ me his birth mark before he _told_ Lady Ruth about it." She paused, and then to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible, Natalia dramatically concluded, "A woman, I add, he doesn't even _know_!"

At that remark, Ruth fired a squinted eye glance Natalia's way. Natalia was uncertain suddenly, if Ruth meant it playfully, so she defensively added, "Well, no offence, Lady Ruth."

Confused, Joe interjected, "Why do you keep calling her 'lady'? I mean, it's obvious she's a lady!"

Recognizing Joe's unintended breach of etiquette, Anton leapt into the conversation next, stating, "No; no, Joe . . . it's my fault, sorry, Lady Ruth!"

"No, Anton," began Ruth in earnest. Magnanimously accepting the blame, she continued, "It is entirely my own fault, for I asked you to call me plain Ruth."

Subserviently, Anton continued, "But we are in mixed company – I should have used your title."

Sincerely, Ruth confessed, "Actually, Anton, it delights me without limits that this youngster seems to have no clue as to my identity!"

With a shrug, Joe explained, "I just figured you were friends, eh."

Natalia considered the two adults her prey, moreover, she had prayed for them to get together, so to speak. _Here's a chance to have fun!_ Looking at her dad and Ruth, Natalia teased, "Well, yes of course they are _friends_ , aren't you guys?"

"Yes, we are friends, Natalia," interjected Ruth, intuitively. She continued, "I agree, friends enjoy finding out things about each other."

"So," began Natalia, with high hopes.

"So, Joe Painted Sun, Natalia is a bit upset you haven't shown her your birth mark," began Lady Ruth. Continuing to focus on Joe, Ruth asked, "Would you like to show it to her now?"

Joe considered his options. He had no idea who this crazy 'lady' was, but thought she deserved fair warning, and answered, "Okay, but I recommend you better not look, lady."

Confident, Ruth asked, "Why ever not?" She stopped feeling this way when she saw Joe quickly pull the right side of his trousers down six inches to flash Natalia his birth-stained upper backside.

Shocked, but maintaining her British stiff upper lip, Lady Ruth attempted to steer decorum back on course, demurely stating, "Thank you, Joe. Perhaps now would be the moment to move on to the demonstration, Anton?"

Natalia interjected, "I think Joe just gave a pretty impressive one of those, Lady Ruth!" Then, Natalia began laughing until she reached her snorting point.

Her snort repetitions became so frequent that Lady Ruth leapt to her feet, assuming Natalia was unwell. She enquired, "Oh, my dear, are you having an asthmatic attack?"

Unconcerned, in unison, the two males explained, "No, it's just her snort." Then each male looked inquisitively at the other. Their unintended comic timing caused Natalia to snort more, which in turn caused Ruth to laugh. When both Anton and Joe began to laugh last but still together, Natalia let out an upgraded snort – a rip snort – that seemed to all others to sound painful even. In fact, this caused both Anton and Ruth to gasp slightly, but Joe to laugh harder.

Eventually, Ruth managed to advance the conversation, asking, "So Anton, shall we get on with whatever you want to call it?"

"Certainly, Lady Ruth. I am sorry for the delays!"

Reminding him, Ruth evenly stated, "Two hours – you promised me!"

Anton began, "It will be easier to understand, Lady Ruth, once I have explained everything from the beginning."

Ruth repeated, "Two hours – you promised me!"

"Yes, Lady Ruth," replied Anton.

With her own interests in mind, Ruth requested, "Let's all promise . . . no more interruptions . . . unless of course, we do not comprehend something."

Plainly, Natalia responded, "I suggest we all just zip it then, Lady Ruth!"

Anton protested, "Natalia, that's rude!"

Natalia explained, "I meant well, dad. If she needs to get out of here in just two hours, then you'd better give the abridged version of your presentation. Crap, last night it took you almost four hours – and I still understood zip of it!"

Gently reminding her, Anton commented, "Natalia, watch your language, please."

Natalia quickly responded, "Oh, shit! I'm sorry, Lady Ruth!" Then she covered her mouth.

Seemingly missing that Natalia had sworn, Joe genuinely added, "Yeah, she's sorry, eh."

Ruth demanded, "Please begin, Anton, before this turns into a farce!"

Everyone quieted down, Anton cleared his throat, and then he began, "I was born in Chernobyl in 1972, 18 years before the fall of communism in the Soviet Union."

"Oh, shi –" began Natalia, but managed to stop herself. Then she rolled her eyes, and requested, "Cut to the part about how you got out, dad!"

Somewhat resenting needing to heed her advice, Anton responded, "Very well, in the interest of saving time, I'll move forward." Then he restarted, saying, "Before the fall of communism in the USSR, the Soviet government offered scientists and soon-to-graduate students, the opportunity to solicit for work and education in the West, because it intended to cut its scientific labour force in half." Then he asked, "How's that, Natalia?"

She replied, "Excellent, dad. Now tell her about how this affected you personally."

Catching on, Anton responded, "Yes!" Then, as if he had finally comprehended how to proceed, Anton continued, "Well, you see, I was about to graduate, and I had performed well enough in school that the Massachusetts Institution of Technology offered me a scholarship."

Unimpressed that he had downplayed his past successes, Natalia interrupted, " _'Well enough'_? Dad, come on, toot yer horn a bit! MIT? Are you kidding me? Shit!"

Giving her the bad language glance again, Anton stated, "Natalia!"

Understanding it, she replied, "Sorry, dad."

Encouragingly, Joe suggested, "Tell her about the freaky way you got smart suddenly, Dr. Yakushev!" Then Joe turned to Ruth and with an enthusiastic whisper, said, "This story really rocks, lady!"

"Yes, well," began Anton, "I suppose it might seem freakish, especially in hindsight. Anyways, after the Chernobyl disaster in 1986, the government relocated the survivors and moved my family to Moscow. Soon after, I began to experience headaches . . . at first mild ones, but then severe ones, like migraines."

Ruth protested, "How awful for you, Anton!"

Joe continued, "Tell her the weird part, doctor!"

"Uh, yes, well, my grades began to rise despite the headaches," continued Anton. Then he revealed, "And eventually, I scored perfectly in all my subjects at school."

Complimenting him, Ruth stated, "All of them? Bravo, Anton! Bravo!"

Candidly, Natalia interjected, "Usually when I get a headache, I feel like barfing."

Ruminating as he spoke, Joe admitted, "I usually only barf if I eat too much junk food and shit like that, eh." Then he quickly self-admonished himself, saying, "Oh, my bad! Sorry for swearing, lady!"

Urgently, Ruth requested, "Carry on, Anton!" The rude words did not trouble her half so much as the incessant interruptions.

Anton continued, "Right, then . . . news of my success eventually reached the Soviet government, who in time turned me into a 'hope and renewal' poster boy for Chernobyl."

Natalia interrupted, "It disgusts me when they exploit people like that!"

Ruth agreed, "Indeed!"

Anton continued, "Anyways, the headaches stopped, and this became another miracle."

Joe interjected, "I'll say, eh. The master himself, Stan Lee, would have trouble believing that story!"

Ruth inquired, "Who's Stan Lee?"

Stunned by her ignorance, Joe questioned, "Comic book writing legend, Stan Lee?" Then he answered, "He's the God of Marvel Comics, that's all!"

While Joe spoke, Ruth glanced at the time on her watch. Recalling that in her haste to leave Toronto she had almost forgot to wear her watch; Ruth took a second to admire its delicate thin band, and its wealth-understating silver metal. She smiled knowing her earrings matched it perfectly and she could monitor the time discreetly. Hearing Joe finish, she responded, "Indeed! Tally ho, Anton!"

As he gave Joe an admonishing glance, Anton began, "Okay, so, word of my strange and improbable story eventually reached NASA in the USA. The next thing I knew, MIT offered me a scholarship."

Curious, Ruth asked. "So, that was the origin of your relationship with NASA?"

Anton replied, "Yes but, what no one knows about, is the deal I worked out with them."

Ruth asked, "What was your deal?"

"They wanted me to study astrophysics to the exclusion of all other sciences, but my interests were far too diversified to accept that restriction."

Ruth reasoned, "But, eventually you must have accepted, Anton."

He explained, "Yes, but, sensing that I would turn them down at the time, NASA's operatives offered to fully fund any summer projects I was interested in, beginning before I even entered the institute."

Enthusiastically, Joe interrupted, "Tell her about the cash grant, doctor!" Then he confided in Ruth again, saying, "You won't believe the big bucks they gave him, lady!"

Anton continued, "Ahh, yes, Joe . . . they granted me a budget of a half million dollars per summer . . ."

Repeating him, as if finding it amazing, Natalia stated, "A half a million per summer!" She shook her head in wonder and added, "And that was before any of us were even born, right dad?"

Quickly, Ruth added, "I'll take that as a compliment!" Then she smiled demurely at Anton.

Because Ruth's smile had easily distracted him, Anton asked, "Ahh, where was I?"

Ruth had a thought, and interrupted, "A moment, Anton, for a point of clarification; how did a Russian-speaking teenager negotiate his way through a deal like that?"

"Oh, uh," began Anton. Then he admitted, "As a 14-year-old, I learned English after a tech friend of mine discovered how to hook up American television stations via satellite in Moscow. I mostly watched science fiction shows with a dash of MTV – as you can imagine teens would."

Admiringly, Joe declared, "Excellent choices!"

Mischievously, Natalia inquired, "Was that illegal, dad?"

Pointing his finger upwards for emphasis, Anton explained, "Well, yes . . . of course it was, Natalia, but I considered it scientific research." Then, he continued, "Anyways, I used the time during those summers, and the money, to begin my research."

"But later," interrupted Ruth, "the scientific community ostracized you for identifying that you were researching . . . what was it? Time travel . . . or something ridiculous like that. They said your ideas were as absurd as anything they had ever heard."

Anton nodded knowingly, and then sighed slightly as he replied, "Yes in retrospect that would appear to have been a mistake on my behalf. I should have learned from the wisdom of Nicolaus Copernicus . . ."

Natalia interrupted, "What did he do?"

Very quickly, Joe replied, "Postulated that the Sun was the center of our universe and not the Earth, eh."

Interested, Natalia asked, "Was he a Russian like you, dad?"

"No, Polish," replied Anton.

Joe asked, "Polish are Catholic, right?"

"Yes," said Ruth.

"I bet he got in some shi . . . trouble, for that idea then," remarked Joe, catching himself this time.

Nodding knowingly again, Anton explained, "To my earlier point Joe, the church did _not_ reprimand him because he chose _not_ to print his treatise until almost his death. I, unfortunately, more resemble Galileo Galilei. He chose to support Copernicus' findings in his work, and the Inquisitor ordered his house arrest. He spent the last 10 years of his life restricted."

Innocently, Natalia questioned, "Sort of like you here, dad?"

Everyone suddenly realized her question might have unintentionally severely offended Anton. The audience fell silent awaiting Anton's response, but before he could do so, Natalia jumped out of her seat remembering, "Oh, sh . . . oot! I put a big pot of water on to boil for tea before you arrived, Lady Ruth! I'll be back in a minute!"

Before she could escape, Anton replied, "In answer to your question – yes, Natalia, your question was entirely fair, but it requires no answer! You see, fortunately, in this century at any rate, we are all free to be madmen or geniuses while the rest of the world ignores us!" He concluded his response in an airy, carefree manner, and, then continued, "But let me get back to my story . . ."

Ruth interjected, "Please do, Dr. Yakushev!"

Pleased that Natalia's comment had not diminished his enthusiasm, Ruth began to anticipate something even more special than tea was brewing, if such a thing were possible!

Anton continued with his story, explaining, "In 1990, NASA spent the vast majority of its budget on the Space Shuttle Program. The public seemed happy enough with the program; however, the reality was that even to this day, NASA's greatest period of public support occurred in 1969 when the US beat the Soviets to the Moon landing."

Ruth asked, "So why did the Americans eventually abandon their Moon landings?"

Anton explained, "Well, Lady Ruth, the government realized that both the scientific returns on Moon voyages, and their public popularity, diminished far more rapidly than it expected. Public support for the program began to wane."

Joe interjected, "Bummer!"

"Well enough put, Joe," remarked Anton. He continued, "The important development during this period, however, was something that did _not_ happen . . ."

Enthusiastically, Joe interjected, "Is this the part about propulsion systems, Dr. Yakushev?"

Anton replied, "Indeed; well remembered, Joe! You see, there had not been any measurable improvement in rocket propulsion systems, globally-speaking, for decades."

Clarifying, Ruth asked, "You were head of the Mars space team, were you not, Anton?"

"Yes, Lady Ruth. NASA bade me work on propulsion, but . . ."

Ruth interrupted, "But what, Anton?" She was suddenly concerned that this demonstration might be about something other than her new engine.

Anton continued, "You see, I never deviated from working on propulsion while employed by NASA. I reserved researching my time travel studies to my own free time, except for the work I did during summers at MIT!"

"So, the newspaper reports about you embezzling and wasting taxpayer monies . . ." began Ruth.

He interrupted, "Were uniformly, either lies or supposition!"

Ruth smiled, and decided an immediate opportunity existed for Anton to prove his honesty to her. She stated, "Anton, I need to inquire of you, something very particular!"

Evenly, he asked, "Yes, Ruth?"

She explained, "You expensed a total of $104.53 in paper clips this year, yet have never expensed a penny in five years previously for paper."

Confidently, Anton replied, "Of course I haven't billed you for paper, Lady Ruth." He explained, "In compliance with my own environmental initiative, I file all my data on compact disc. I would never bill you for paper: I have little need of it."

Nodding her head in agreement, but sporting a confused visage Ruth responded, "Top marks there, Anton, but then, that simply makes the paper clip expenditure even more mysterious."

Evenly, he continued, "There is nothing mysterious about it, Lady Ruth. It was simply the only way to do it economically!"

"Do what, may I ask?"

"But of course, Lady Ruth," began Anton. "I needed the paper clips during the early stages of my biophysics experiments involving both bionics and cybernetics."

Impressed, Joe declared, "Wicked!"

Weakly, Ruth asked, "Siberian . . . ethics? What have they to do with propulsion?"

Sensing her confusion, Joe tried to explain things to her in simple terms, saying, "No, lady; Dr. Yakushev is talking about humans and machines joined together, eh? Like in the movie _Terminator_!"

Polite but also dismissive, Ruth responded, "Sounds thoroughly repugnant, I'm sure!"

"Anyways, Lady Ruth, let me continue since you have asked," began Anton. Ruth wanted to interrupt him to say she was satisfied with his report; however, Natalia had just entered with the tea, and distracted her. _Thank goodness, tea!_

"You recall I expensed a hydroponic reservoir about a year ago," continued Anton, oblivious to the tea ritual. "Well, I grew water lily plants for the purpose of advancing my experiments on plant-animal fusion with an aim towards eventually moving on to the more complex, animal-to-machine version of the same thing. The lily plant, you see, produces pads at a prodigious rate, thus allowing me to conduct six experiments running continuously over several days."

As she offered the cookie tray around, and trying to be helpful, Natalia explained, "Dad's growing green and red peppers there now, Lady Ruth!"

With mild exasperation in her voice, Ruth demanded, "But to the paper clip explanation, Anton!"

He continued, "Yes. You see, Lady Ruth, I needed a high resistivity electrical conductor to properly execute my experiments. I needed a considerable volume of these, and frankly, my only other option was to deploy pre-filling stage canning closures."

Helpfully, Joe asked, "Would those be described as 'soda pop tops' to the layperson, Dr. Yakushev?"

Anton replied, "Precisely, Joe!" Then, he continued with his explanation. "I would have had to source the pop tops from the US, which meant extra duty costs, and I would also have needed to modify them to function properly thereafter – a great waste of time for me; thus, I selected the paperclips. In fact, the high resisting steel paperclips proved a perfect conductor over the low resisting aluminum pop tops."

Rummaging through a drawer, Natalia produced a handful of paperclips she previously had noticed there, and then commented, "Hey, Lady Ruth, here's a bunch . . . pretty colours, too!"

"Yes," remarked Anton. "The plastic coating in multiple colours cinched the deal. The plastic enhanced the resistive capacity, and the colours meant I could avoid using a time-consuming hand-written numerical system that would have been more prone to my making errors with as well."

As she discreetly dipped her chocolate cookie in the tea, Ruth dryly announced, "Anton, I will never again question your need to spend $104.53."

"In the interest of your time, I suggest we move on, Lady Ruth," added Anton.

"Pray do so, Anton," replied Ruth, and then she sipped her tea.

Anton resumed, explaining, "After I concluded my early practical experiments during the summers at MIT, I returned to the computer for several years. In fact, I spent most of the first three years of your sponsorship, Lady Ruth, immersed in theoretical study before beginning practical experimentation again. Although I made a significant breakthrough a few months ago; nevertheless, it was not until Joe offered an opinion a few days ago, that I realized what the answer to safe human time travel was!"

During her entire adult life, Ruth could not recall disrupting a tea party herself with such a breach of its required protocol as she did next. She leapt to her feet; spilled a large dollop of tea on the lab floor; and then shouted, "Time travel?"

Mistaking her response as being overjoyed exuberance, Anton excitedly replied, "Yes, Lady Ruth; I have conducted time travel successfully and safely, but not with a human subject . . . yet!"

She repeated, "Time travel?"

Still misreading her response, Anton continued, "I know it sounds . . . 'absurd' and 'ridiculous' as you said earlier, but I have succ. . ."

She interrupted, "I'm not here to see your innovative engine design?"

Instantly disheartened, Anton verbally stumbled, "Uh, well, Lady Ruth; I do continue to work on propulsion occasionally; however, about 18 months ago now, I diverted . . . some of my resources . . . and time . . . to time travel – and I have succ . . ."

Deflated by what she now recognized was not going to happen, Ruth interrupted, "Dear me! I'm sorry, Anton. I had a different expectation. I'm sure that a time travel breakthrough must be a wonderful thing also."

"Indeed, Lady Ruth," began Anton, trying to hide his disappointment. He asked, "May I presume to accept that this is why you had a concern about expenses?"

Ruth did not want him to think of her as petty or suspicious: that was not her intent at all. She answered, "Anton, please forget about that issue. I am content that you have used your time in a positive pursuit, and that you expensed things accordingly!"

Candidly, he asked, "But you would have preferred a fast new engine today?"

Ruth did not want to dwell on that negative issue, and suddenly had an idea. She asked, "Anton, does your time travel device . . . fly?"

He admitted, "Ahh, no, Ruth. At this stage I have created a stationary holding vessel only."

Still hopeful, she continued, "I see. One does not _fly_ to the past and then _fly_ back to the future?"

Joe interrupted, "Excellent movie choice, lady, but he was called 'McFly'!"

Deflated, Ruth asked, "Whatever is this youngster talking about, Anton?"

Anton explained, "It was just a science fiction film; but no, the machine does not fly."

Ruth smiled and then produced a sign of her indomitable British spirit, by saying, "Science _fiction_? Well, the fiction part is outdated then! How did you make fiction obsolete, Anton?"

Thankful for her change in attitude, Anton confessed, "Actually, I must give full credit to my young assistant, Joe Painted Sun. If we are eventually successful in moving to the human travelling stage, then his input will have been instrumental!"

"Just a moment, Anton," began Ruth slowly. "What do you mean by _assistant_ and to that end as well, the word _we_?" Ruth could not recall the hiring of any assistant. She reasoned that she probably would have approved such a thing, but would have appreciated knowing in advance. After all, she paid the bills!

Anton comfortably explained, "Yes, Lady Ruth; Joe Painted Sun qualifies as my assistant as of a few days ago, and even Natalia has busied herself in a support role!"

Somewhat taken aback, Ruth replied, "I don't believe Canadian law allows for an employee this young, Anton!"

Anton furrowed his brow as if incredulous hearing her comments, and explained, "But, Lady Ruth, I did not _hire_ Joe per se. There is no financial compensation!"

With no degree of humour, Ruth declared, "Worse and worst! If you aren't paying someone for their services, even if they are a child, then you are little better than a slaver!"

Stunned by Ruth's accusation, Anton marvelled at how she could describe Joe as his slave. Anton wondered if something else was troubling her.

Sensing tension, Joe broke the silence, explaining, "No problem, lady. I work for under-the-table pizza, eh!"

Natalia smiled at Ruth as she presented her with a refreshed cup of tea, and this softened Ruth's concerns. Then, Ruth turned to see Joe with a large grin, and his missing tooth. The child looked as if he were the happiest of humans alive. This made her smile. Acceptingly, she began, "Very well, I shall turn a blind eye in this case!" With a righteous finger point, she explained to Joe and Natalia, "In other parts of the world children, this would be a serious offense!"

Anton stood watching the exchange, formed his hands into fists, and then positioned them on his hips. He was trying hard to stay on course in order to meet Ruth's time mandate, but these constant diversions, especially this latest, made him feel frustrated and disappointed. He especially did not appreciate her accusatory remarks regarding slave labour! After all, Ruth was the person who told him to make new friends and 'bring in fresh blood'.

He watched as she smiled now and sipped her tea, as if she were satisfied that a storm had passed. He decided her sudden acceptance of the work relationship was insincere. Anton felt he still needed to justify his selection of his entirely willing youthful assistant, because Ruth still secretly thought of him as a slaver!

Somewhat indignantly, he stated, "In fact Ruth, I discovered that the best thing I did in over a year was to take Joe on and listen to his ideas – fresh blood!"

Sensing the situation remained tense, Joe jokingly stated, "There he goes with that vampire thing again, eh, Natalia?"

Having formed the same conclusion, Natalia added, "Yeah, we've got to get him out into the night air more! Let him feed more, or something!"

Replete with clawing hands, a terrible Transylvanian accent, and his missing tooth, Joe attempted his best movie vampire impersonation, declaring, "I _v_ ant to suck your blood!"

Natalia laughed at his foolishness, and remarked, "Well, you won't suck much with that hole in yer mouth, Dracula!" Then she presented him with the tray, and asked, "Cookie?"

As Joe returned to himself and accepted a chocolate chip cookie, Anton began laughing. He realized at that moment that in his heart he felt the rest of the world could go and hang itself, but he thought these two kids were delightful. They were enthusiastic and without worries. If Ruth could not see this too, then she must have some hidden issue that he could never have surmised previously.

Ruth, although the last to do so, nevertheless began to laugh also, after she saw Joe nibble his cookie, and then flash a warm smile. After the laughter died down, she sincerely asked, "Anton, what did Joe discover?"

Anton burst into a smile and replied, "Joe's idea concerned DNA. He suggested that a time traveler could overcome most of several theorized paradoxes _if he could only alter his own DNA before traveling_!"

As if the answer were obvious to anyone, Ruth commented, "Yes, but of course that's the answer!" Then she admitted, "Actually, I am certain that you understand I really have no idea what you are talking about, Anton."

Anton sympathized, stating, "Indeed, Ruth, but actually, you would sit in company with the vast majority of people who would also be in that position." Then he added, "However, you rise above them because you admit it."

After he spoke, he winked at her. She enjoyed his winking praise immensely.

"I'm right there in _your_ group too, Lady Ruth," interjected Natalia. Looking around her, she added, "All this equipment looks to me like stuff you need for a rock concert!"

Ruth smiled and motioned for Natalia to sit beside her. She explained, "We ladies will stick together on this, my dear! Anton, please explain in... _lady_ person's terms, what you mean by all that scientific tommyrot!"

Joe whispered to Anton, asking, "What's 'tummy rot', doctor? Is that like having a tapeworm?"

Anton whispered back, explaining, "It is possibly anything complicated that someone British does not understand, Joe, but I am unfamiliar with some of her jargon."

Natalia inquired, "What are you two whispering about, dad?"

Smiling fraudulently, Anton answered, "Nothing important, dear, just a point of linguistic clarification between Joe and me – nothing further."

Anton felt a bit guilty that the science-geek boys had just performed a mental fly-by past the girls, so to speak, and so he decided it was time for the demonstration to begin. He announced, "Lady Ruth, in the interests of your time, and because this really is in danger of becoming farcical, how about I simply send something travelling through time, and fill in the details as we go?"

Ruth clasped her hands elated, Natalia copied her, and Joe helped Anton pull the curtain back. Behind it sat an odd-looking device about the size of Ruth's smallest piece in her trendy luggage set.

Ruth gasped and stated, "Goodness, Anton! You cannot mean to suggest that a person could travel through time in this microwave oven!"

### Chapter 24: Mantis – Ontario – slightly earlier that same day

At 9 AM, for just the third time, Mantis approached the condominium door with the number 2607 on it. She would have preferred more surveillance time to be certain of her target's habits, but time was suddenly a factor.

Just as she had on the two previous scouting missions, Mantis used her signal scrambler on the condominium's door. Her employer had distributed the handy little device to his operatives as standard equipment. She had a pet name for it; she called it her 'electric pick'.

As she performed a routine scan of the vacant condominium, Mantis thought about the concern she had had after having learned the location of her next target: the target's dwelling was 24 stories high! Mantis could not expect to perform the hit in her usual and favourite way: from above.

She recalled worrying that she would have to perform the hit at ground level: something she had rarely done in her career and a style open to far more risk than almost any other type of hit. _I'd rather perform a drive-by shooting – I'd already be in the get-away car!_

As she finished her cursory scan, she looked out to the balcony, and directly across and down two floors to her target's condominium. She shook her head, laughed quietly, and in a low volume, said, "Only in the big city!"

Her worries had quickly turned into good fortune two days ago, when Mantis discovered that not only was the building across the boulevard taller than the target's; moreover, she found a vacant condominium in it that was two floors higher than her target's abode. It was perfect!

As usual, Mantis had several routines to perform and went about them with precision and confidence. As she did so, she recalled her second encounter with good fortune, which began during her follow-up conversation with Tigris, her employer, when she had initially refused the job. It went like this:

"This is Mantis. I have reviewed the contents of the target's dossier and I am rejecting the contract. Repeat; I am rejecting the contract!"

"Unfortunate to hear, Mantis Religiosa, the client will be most . . . disappointed. Can I pass on your reasons why, before I find another asset to complete the assignment?"

"Yes, Tigris, you can inform your client that I am comfortable eliminating the villainous drug lords, exploitive arms dealers, and dictators masquerading as politicians. I am also not more than indifferent eliminating transgressors who have embezzled a bit here or bullied a bit there; however, I strenuously object to anyone requesting that I neutralize the most visible and well-liked philanthropist female on the planet Earth. I also see no advantage that the rest of society gains by my doing this!"

"Mantis, after all these years, are you asking me to believe that you have developed a conscience?"

"Tigris, when you interviewed me 12 years ago, you gave me advice that I have followed to this day. You told me then that I should have two personas. You explained my work persona should remain fiercely amoral, and then I could feel free to choose whatever disposition I felt like having for my private one."

"I am impressed, Mantis: I do offer that advice to candidates even to this day, and may I compliment you for always having delivered with perfection up to now."

"Don't get me wrong, Tigris, but $200,000 is not much of an incentive to eliminate such a high profile candidate. Even if I succeed, I would likely have to lay low for over a year, losing out on income in the process!"

"So, it is more a matter of an insufficient fee?"

"Oh, I wouldn't venture down the negotiation path with me, Tigris, if I were you, because I wouldn't harm her for 10 times the offered price! How's that for negotiation?"

"I would suggest you make a reasonable starting counter-offer, Mantis Religiosa: no one collects $2 million off one contract."

"I don't doubt it, Tigris, but then I doubt you'll find many true professionals who would risk such a career-ending venture."

"True, however, there is always someone new or unfavoured available to complete the job."

"Then go ahead and risk them. Hopefully they won't expose you in the process!"

"What do you mean by that remark, Mantis?"

"I mean that rookies often foul up, Tigris, in unpredictable ways, and as for the 'unfavoured' as you called them, they usually find themselves in that position because they fouled up last time."

"You are a clever one, Mantis, but I have yet to hear if you intend to make a counter offer. Remember, everybody on Earth has a price on his . . . or her, head, possibly even you or I. It is merely a matter of situation and negotiation at the appropriate time and place."

"Tell your client what I said – not for 10 times the price!"

"I will pass on your sentiments regarding this matter; however, I need not alert you that the next time you hear of this assignment, you will probably be reading about its successful completion on your iPad."

As she assembled the rifle stand, she laughed realizing that in retrospect, that conversation indeed proved to be a first negotiation stage.

Eventually, the client made her an offer of $2.5 million payable in Deutsche marks. Mantis now saw her retirement ahead as early as the youthful age of 33: the thought of this was enlightening and motivating!

After she positioned the rifle stand, Mantis performed the rest of her normal routines, but then checked on another situational one. She opened the condominium balcony's sliding door to confirm the variance in actual wind speed to that which the Internet weather report stated it would be, because at this height, and with other tall buildings near, she knew there could be considerable variance. Other nearby tall buildings could create a wind tunnel, accelerating wind speed considerably. One last test would confirm her expectations. It turned out there was no difference: wind velocity was a non-factor this morning.

She opened the rifle case and removed the various pieces within it. After she used the Murphy's Oil Soap in the usual way, she looked through the telescopic lens of the unassembled Lapua rifle to view her target. Although she was eager to complete her task, she reminded herself that, as usual, she had provided Tigris with a specific time for the hit to occur, and she would adhere to that plan.

Thinking about time sent Mantis into her final time-check routine: 9:40 AM. _10 minutes to go!_ She recalled setting the hit time to 10 minutes before the hour because she discovered through her surveillance that her target was a creature of certain routines herself. During both previous surveillance occasions, Mantis had discovered that her target sat stationary reading the newspaper from 9:25 to 9:55 AM, and then moved around performing other tasks thereafter. It made sense to set the hit time for a time in between these times. Mantis had arbitrarily selected 9:50 as her hit time.

Mantis looked through the telescopic lens and saw the target reading a newspaper, motionless except for the occasion sipping from a teacup. _Perfect!_

Mantis noticed that even 24 stories up in the air, hidden from prying eyes and at this early hour of the day, Ruth nevertheless looked immaculate. In fact, Mantis thought she looked co-ordinated and very stylish.

Mantis looked over her target's dossier one last time, and noted how beautiful the woman was. Even in the dossier photograph, her target was well-coiffed and resembled royalty. _She will make a lovely corpse!_

Shaking off a shudder of shameful conscience, Mantis's darker side – the one that she suspected all humans possessed if they understood money – she rationalized _'Two point five million!'_

At 9:43, Mantis's pre-warning timer went off, and she assembled the rifle with her usual robotic-like precision. After she locked the rifle onto the stand, she looked through the telescopic lens again, as per routine. She noted that her target appeared engaged in a cell phone call. _No problem – take your time, dear!_

At 9:49 and 20 seconds, Mantis positioned herself to squeeze the trigger. At 9:49 and 32 seconds, the target, Ruth Clarkson-Smythe, rose to her feet and quickly moved out of sight! _What! How can this be? Is a different phone ringing? Did the doorbell ring? Was a second kettle boiling? Did she need the washroom?_

Mantis moved the rifle on its tripod to see if the old codger who had been sitting on the balcony smoking a pipe the whole time, had caused Ruth to move. Mantis saw that he had not moved an inch. She concluded that Ruth's phone conversation must have caused her sudden departure!

For a moment, Mantis hesitated, hoping Ruth would return to her seat. When this failed to happen within 20 seconds, Mantis decided that something had compromised the hit. Her experience told her that every second that she waited hereafter simply increased her risk.

She began to disassemble the Lapua as fast as she could. She started thinking about the only other time in her career that a compromise had occurred.

While in Bangkok, before what would have been her third career hit, Mantis had a similar start to a job. It turned out she had missed a note in the dossier that her corrupt politician target went for Shiatsu massage therapy once per week. They did this on Tuesdays always, and close to the same time of day. Mantis had planned that hit to take place on a Tuesday.

She recalled now that her solution then was to shoot him in the underground parking lot as his chauffeur drove him to the massage appointment. Although Mantis succeeded, she considered herself fortunate to have escaped afterwards only because she had a nearby vehicle.

Mantis looked at her wristband. The time was 9:55. Mantis closed the rifle case after placing all the Lapua pieces in it except the telescopic viewer. She used the telescopic viewer to try to locate Ruth one last time. At 9:58, Mantis saw Ruth putting on an overcoat. _She's leaving_ – _I can still get her in her parking spot!_

Mantis collected the case, and sped out the front door towards the elevator. She managed to get to the ground floor by 10:00 on the dot. She headed outside to her car, which she had managed to leave in one of only three legal public parking spaces in front of the condominium. She opened the trunk and placed the rifle case inside, but as she went to remove her alternative close-range weapon option, Mantis saw Ruth driving slowly up the underground parking ramp on the other side of the street.

Mantis slammed the trunk leaving all weapons inside it, slipped into the driver's seat, and then drove south following Ruth, who had, fortunately for Mantis, turned south in the same direction Mantis's car faced.

As Mantis noticed Ruth moving into the far right lane, Mantis considered how much worse this could have been. To begin with, she regarded herself as extremely lucky to have found the vacant public parking spot in front of the condominium.

In addition, Ruth could have taken a right turn heading north: she would have been out of sight by the time Mantis had made a dangerous u-turn attempting to follow. As she saw Ruth's car exiting onto the #401 highway heading west, Mantis felt relief that she had caught up to Ruth in time to follow her onto the highway. _Phew!_

As Mantis drove behind Ruth in the early stage of pursuit, she reasoned she had no choice but to replay recent events in her mind and ask herself some questions. Right now, she had to maintain control of a two-ton vehicle driving 65 miles per hour, in weather that was changing from sunny and bright to grey and storm threatening. She wondered if the change in weather was about to imitate her changing fortunes. _What went wrong?_

Mantis wanted to reach for the dossier to read for clues, but could not risk it while driving. She wanted to call Tigris to alert him she had to abort, but doing so would constitute an illegal mobile call, and she could not risk police stopping her. Finally, she realized that even if she wanted to exercise her last-resort choice, to perform a drive by shooting, she could not because all her weapons were in the trunk.

Mantis was not a private detective! Even if she had no agenda eventually to kill the pursued driver, she found that following anyone in a car on a busy highway was difficult. As she followed in her rental car, Mantis struggled to keep pace with Ruth Clarkson-Smythe's sedan. Having to drive like this was a significant nuisance!

Before long, Mantis followed Ruth as she turned north on an adjoining highway called #400. Ruth remained in the slower right lane during the manoeuvre, and for this Mantis was grateful because she was still uncomfortable in her pursuit role.

Suddenly though, Ruth changed lanes and Mantis, unfamiliar with the route and the exits, knew she must follow suit. Frantically, she copied Ruth's move, and in order to accomplish this, she needed to use both her side and rear-view mirrors. When she did this, she noticed perspiration on her forehead. This disgusted her and made her scowl. Apparently, this job had actually caused Mantis to sweat. _I'll remember this when I finally pull the trigger, Ruth!_

### Chapter 25: Anton's farmhouse – Aurica – same day

After hearing Ruth's less-than-flattering opening remarks about his time traveling device's size, Anton explained, "It is a prototype, Ruth; of course I would not propose to send a human time traveller in this time machine; however, I might soon send a mouse!"

Concerned, Natalia inquired, "Will you ask the mouse for its permission, father?"

Anton had recently realized that whenever his daughter referred to him formally like that, she was angry or about to reproach him for something. He was not in the mood to fend her off, while he already had an unimpressed Lady Ruth to deal with, and so he tried a pre-emptive reply, "Natalia; you have made your point to me clearly enough before now. I respect that you do not approve of animal experimentation; however, I would like to point out two things. Firstly, I plan no harm to the animal."

Unconvinced, she responded, "Yeah? And your second point?"

"And, if you don't let me proceed without further interruptions, then I may as well send Ruth on her way. Time is of the essence!"

"Indeed, Anton," added Ruth, approvingly. "Best foot forward, Natalia! Let us trust in your father. He's the doctor – the expert!"

Pleased that Ruth respected his position, Anton, in a formal sounding voice, continued, "Lady Ruth Clarkson-Smythe, I conducted my first of several successful time travel experiments beginning last October."

Disappointed to hear so late of such early success, Ruth complained, "So long ago as then! Anton, why didn't you mention . . ." She stopped when she noticed his impatient stare.

He interjected, "No interruption!" Then Anton paused. Hearing no more interruptions, he quickly continued, "Now then, according to the dictionary, Chemistry is the science that systematically studies the composition, properties, and activity of organic and inorganic substances in various elementary forms of matter."

Whispering to Joe, and with one raised eyebrow, Natalia let him have it, suggestively stating, "I hear some people just think of Chemistry as sexual attraction!" Quickly checking his reaction, and discovering Joe's face growing redder by the second, Natalia received no comeback, and so she silently praised herself. _Mission accomplished!_

Not noticing Natalia's antics, Anton continued, "With that definition in mind, and given my accrued Physics data to date on time travel . . . I started with a stone!"

Thoughtfully, Joe interrupted, "Very monolithic. Very _2001 Space Odyssey!"_

Appreciative of the reference, Anton commented, "Thank you, Joe," and then continued. "Anyways, a stone has the chemical property of being inorganic, and so it was a safe and logical place to start. I could not harm the thing traveling, nor could it harm humanity's past or future."

Quietly, Joe mused, "But, I could pick up the stone in the past, use it to kill a young Adolph Hitler, and completely change modern History".

Anton was prepared to provide theories as needed – now was not the time! Quickly, he interjected, "Save that thought, Joe, please!"

"Anyways," began Ruth, "I take it by that you've moved a stone in time, doctor?"

Joe took a turn whispering to Natalia, explaining, "Not to be confused with _A Wrinkle in Time,_ eh. That was a sci-fi novel."

As he noticed Joe whispering, Anton continued, "Moving along; to answer your question, Lady Ruth, yes, I have moved a stone in time."

Impressed, Ruth remarked, "Incredible, Anton! Can you show me?"

Anton nodded affirmatively and then asked Natalia to videotape the event on Anton's camcorder. Then he asked Joe to monitor the synchronized timepieces throughout the experiment.

"Alright, Lady Ruth," began Anton, "please focus your attention for a moment on the two synchronized timepieces that Joe is holding and note that they show the exact same time."

"Yes, I see that, Anton," replied Ruth.

Anton continued, "Now I'll have Natalia show you that I synchronized the camcorder timer for the purposes of this experiment also." Natalia showed the timer to Ruth.

"Indeed, Anton," remarked Ruth. Then, she inquired, "Or should I say 'check', or 'affirmative', or some other spacey-like thing?"

At least pleased she was interested, Anton replied, "Affirmative is fine, Ruth. Please pay attention."

Natalia asked, "Dad, is that clock on the wall synchronized as well?"

Looking at it, Anton answered, "Yes, Natalia, indeed it is." Then, in case it actually mattered to Ruth, he added, "That is, I should say 'affirmative'."

Enthusiastically, Joe asked, "Are we really to begin now, doctor?"

Anton answered, "Almost, Joe, but first I have to explain what everyone will witness in the next few minutes."

With a thumb up signal, Joe replied, "Affirmative, eh!"

Anton turned to Natalia and said, "Alright, Natalia, roll the film!"

Nodding, she replied, "Gotcha, dad." Realizing her error, she quickly added, "Oh, sorry – affirmative!" Then, Natalia started to record with the camcorder.

Anton turned to address the camera, and raised his voice, dramatically stating, "This is Anton . . . _Doctor_ Anton Vladimir Yakushev recording this historic event from my basement laboratory here in Aurica, Ontario."

In a whisper, Natalia interrupted, "Don't forget to say Canada, dad."

Slightly irritated, Anton explained, "Yes, Natalia, but I believe the camera picked up what you just said." Then he continued, "For those of you watching, please note that all four timepieces in this experiment are synchronized to show the same time. The clock on the wall, the camcorder time, and both pieces that my assistant Joe currently holds, all show 12:57 PM."

Joe added, "And forty seconds!"

Anton continued, "Good point, Joe. In fact, please note that in twenty seconds all the timepieces with change to 12:58 at precisely the same moment." Anton paused for that event to occur.

When all the timepieces changed in unison to 12:58, Anton continued, "Now for the important part . . . I will ask Joe to place one of his two timepieces inside the time-travel chamber where you will see a stone already in position."

As Joe followed these instructions, Anton continued, "Now then, it is my intention to send this stone travelling 5 minutes into the future. If I am successful, then you will witness the following sequence of events. First, both the stone and timepiece within the chamber will disappear. According to my hypothesis, when the stone reappears, its timepiece will still display the same time as when it left."

Ruth interrupted, "But it _will_ have left, Anton. The stone will have experienced _some_ passage of time, surely!"

Remembering that he was on camera, Anton did not roll his eyes as he responded, "Ruth, that is precisely the point of the time machine. When it returns its timepiece will show that it effectively did not leave. Our time will pass by 5 minutes, but the stone's timepiece will show precisely the same time that it left."

Joe tried to explain, "The stone will experience temporal stasis, eh, lady."

Natalia attempted to clarify for Ruth, saying, "That means time passes for us, but not for the stone."

Ruth asked, "So the stone misses the 5 minutes?"

Anton confirmed, "Effectively, Ruth."

As if concerned, Ruth slowly questioned, "It will miss the _entire_ event?"

Joe replied, "Well, it's inanimate, eh, it lacks the feelings to miss anything, lady."

"Of course," commented Ruth, recovering, "please continue."

Anton began, "We will begin at 1pm precisely, in 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . ." When he reached zero in the countdown, he pressed the button on his remote controlled device and the stone and the timepiece within the chamber disappeared.

Ruth gasped.

When he saw the items disappear, Joe remarked, "It's like in that movie again, with Christopher Lloyd as the mad scientist!"

Innocently, Natalia added, "Nowhere near so exciting though! I mean, that doctor used a fast car!"

"Yeah," began Joe, "this sure isn't a car – more like a toaster oven!"

Ruth added, "Personally, I thought, more like a microwave."

Natalia concluded, "Yeah, dad, the machine needs work!"

Somewhat frustrated, Anton explained, "If my calculations are correct, then other than me, the three of you have just become the first human witnesses of an actual time travel event." Then he caustically added, "The vessel this occurred in is irrelevant!"

Joe sympathized, saying, "He's got a point, eh." Wishing to cheer up Anton, Joe added, "That was really sweet, Dr. Yakushev, and you are much more stylish than that white-haired nerdy doctor in the movie!"

Natalia reasoned, "Yeah, dad, your hair isn't white at all."

Ruth smiled hearing Natalia's comment, then Anton responded, "Thank you, Natalia . . . I think!"

Recollecting, Natalia continued, "I liked how the kid managed to change the future!"

Anton quickly interrupted, "Yes, we'll deal with that prospective problem a little later. Let us not get ahead of ourselves! We need to refocus on the demonstration."

Joe chimed in, asking, "So what happens for the next three minutes and forty-five seconds, doctor?"

Anton had not pre-considered this comparatively lengthy time gap, and hesitatingly replied, "Well, uh . . . we wait!"

After a few beats, Natalia inquired, "Do you want me to keep videotaping the empty machine, dad?"

Agitated, he replied, "Well, of course, we have to keep _taping_ , Natalia. Time is of the essence!"

A pause ensued as they waited.

Finally, Ruth diplomatically asked, "It is possibly not my place to comment like this, Anton, but would not _two_ minutes into the future have sufficed?"

Trying to be helpful, Joe quickly added, "Yeah, you know, the doctor in the movie only sent his dog ahead a minute – the scene had great flow that way." Joe detected that Anton possibly found his comments underwhelming. Joe smiled sheepishly and added, " _I_ thought."

No one said another word for the duration of the experiment, although Natalia fidgeted, Anton paced, Joe dropped his timepiece, however, managed not to damage it, and Ruth waited patiently except for the occasional drumming of her fingernails.

Thirty seconds before the stone was to reappear, Anton spoke again, stating, "In twenty seconds I will begin counting down from ten seconds. When I get to zero the stone should reappear."

When Anton counted, everyone watched in anticipation. When he said zero, the stone and its timepiece reappeared. Everyone except Anton gasped, and Ruth then applauded. The stone had been to the future!

Ruth sat amazed, then turned to Anton and slowly questioned, "I'm not sure I understand this, what would you call it?"

In the form of a question, Joe answered, "An explanation of the timeline continuum?"

"Yes, you have just witnessed time travel, Lady Ruth," began Anton. Then he requested, "You can shut off the video recorder now, Natalia!"

As Natalia turned it off, Anton continued explaining time travel concepts to them all. He said, "You see, Lady Ruth, time travel defies the conventional linear concept of time – one might say you have to curve your thoughts to wrap the concept of time travel around your brain."

After a pause, Ruth asked, "Anton, you mentioned in the recording that other than yourself, the three of us are the only ones to witness this?"

"Yes, Lady Ruth, that is correct!"

Ruth wondered, and asked, "So then, what happens next?"

Anton explained, "Well, I continue moving up the science ladder from the chemical to the biological, experimenting with other subjects."

Ruth confessed, "I'm not sure I understand the difference, Anton!"

Anton admitted, "Yes, Lady Ruth. It is a bit complicated." Then he explained, "Suffice to say that I will continue to conduct experiments with an aim towards using a human subject eventually, and inside, of course, an expanded-size version of this prototype!"

Catching on, Ruth remarked, "Ahh!" Then she enquired, "So, eventually you do intend for a human to travel in a larger version than the . . . microwave-sized . . . version?"

Anton explained, "Indeed, Lady Ruth. I will be investigating Joe's suggestion of altered DNA in human subjects moving forward, but not before we conduct a second experiment prior to your departure!"

Mildly perturbed at the idea of the young lad being involved further, Ruth began questioning, " _Joe's_ suggestion?"

Anton detected her sudden discomfort, and reasoned they had slipped back into slave labour territory. He needed to clarify his position. Tacitly, Anton replied, "Yes, Lady Ruth. I feel Joe's suggestion is the key to safe human time travel. I mentioned that already. Did you forget?"

Ruth quickly answered, "No, of course not." Then she began her explanation, "It is just that . . . I am concerned for their welfare. I mean, this should remain top secret . . . there are unscrupulous people out there who would assuredly stop at nothing to obtain these secrets!"

Recognizing the validity of her concerns, Anton admitted, "Well, I suppose there would be, and I know you know a lot about exposing unscrupulous people. You previously explained that is the reason for your visiting Peru in a few hours."

Ruth continued, "Indeed . . . and so you understand my concern is for the children's safety. For their sake, perhaps you should continue the work alone."

Natalia interrupted, "But Lady Ruth, it's too late now! If someone captured me and I refused to confess, then they would torture me slowly and kill me when I refused to say anything!"

Joe supported her by adding, "Me too, eh! Although, I have to admit, I might confess if they threatened to knock out any more of my teeth _before_ killing me!"

"Children," began Ruth, "please refrain from making light of this. It is a serious matter. I think it is best if Dr. Yakushev and I spend some time alone discussing the matter in private."

Natalia looked at her father. Anton nodded in deference to what Ruth had suggested. Natalia had to respect that Ruth was the money source, and thus the boss. Her words also made a certain amount of sense.

Regardless, Natalia felt offended. Ruth was shutting her and Joe out with this stupid excuse about it being unsafe for 'the children'. Natalia did not see herself as a child, but respected she was not an adult yet. This was frustrating. She had thought Ruth was on her side.

Motioning to Joe that they should leave, Natalia complained, "I guess we'll just leave since that's what you want!" Then she scoffed and added, "Suddenly, I notice the air is stale down here!"

Sympathetically, Ruth explained, "Natalia, please try to understand, it is for your own welfare!"

After the two youths departed, Anton spoke up, reasoning, "Alright, Ruth, I apologize for the remarks my daughter made, but both she and Joe have been faithful to the project, and even if your conclusion turned out to be true later, for now, this exclusion is hard for them to tolerate and accept."

Cautioning him, Ruth countered, "I know that, Anton, but we must proceed with caution. This is an astounding accomplishment – truly! You should be very proud!"

Anton continued reasoning, stating, "Significant hurdles remain, Ruth. If I cannot have Joe, then I need a different assistant."

Uneasy at the thought of other prying eyes and minds, Ruth hesitatingly asked, "Another adult . . . assistant?"

Passionately, Anton explained, "Indeed, Ruth. I am at a critical stage, and had come to rely on Joe's help. If I accept that Joe is inadequate due to his illegal worker status; moreover, that regardless, with his continued help I would be endangering my child and her friend, then you or I will need to hire a new assistant."

In her most far-fetched imaginings of what would happen here today, Ruth would have guessed a time travel demonstration very low on her list. Possibly even lower, however, was the idea of hiring Anton a helper who would almost certainly discover the nature of his work. She countered, "Well, Anton, I really think we need to continue to keep this secret . . . perhaps we can discuss the matter further when I return."

It had taken Anton years to arrive at this point, yet, even after the many failures he had experienced along the way that had depressed him; nevertheless, he always told himself that if he ever succeeded, everyone in the world would at least appreciate his creation. In his most negative thoughts, however, Anton had not anticipated such antipathy. Tersely Anton replied, "Fine, Ruth." Then, caustically he asked, "Should I suspend research for the next two and a half weeks while you chase bad guys in Peru?"

Plaintively, Ruth replied, "Anton, really, it is rather more complicated than that!"

Aggressively, he continued, "Really, and my work is uncomplicated and trivial beside your own?"

Seeing his growing anger upset Ruth. She wanted to help, but there just was not the time. She would _not_ fight with him though, and so Ruth turned away from him.

For his part, Anton had not experienced such heightened anger since just before his marriage broke up. Even then, he remembered that his ex, Susan, was almost invariably the one who lost their cool, while he managed to keep his. Anton presumed that the within-grasp closeness of success had grown his rage at the sort of rate that his lily pads did.

After a lengthy pause, Anton unreservedly began, "I am sorry, Ruth. I appreciate your position, and I will await further instruction from you on the matter. It is not necessary for us to conduct a second test today. It can wait until your return."

Ruth genuinely explained, "Anton; I am afraid that I cannot help the timing of certain events that need to play out on a schedule for the next few days. Then she confessed, "But I owe an apology, too."

Slightly confused, he asked, "What do you need to apologize about?"

Ruth explained, "Well, it is rather ironic, Anton, but while driving here, I suspected I was coming to assist you with another Natalia problem that you turned out to _not_ actually have, yet, if I were to leave now, I strongly suspect I would be the cause of a future one! I consider that unfair to both of you!"

Appreciating her difficult admission, Anton honestly confessed, "I see. Well, Ruth, my relationship with Natalia improved immensely in conjunction with my including her in any facet of my life she deemed relevant. I believe that it helped considerably when Natalia picked Joe for a friend without my influence, and he accidentally turned out to share a great deal in common with me. Joe serves as a sort of go-between."

Pleased to hear of such fortunate progress, and detecting an emotional side to Anton that previously seemed non-existent, Ruth enquired, "Really, Anton?"

Still free with his thoughts, Anton enthusiastically explained, "Yes, he interacts with me as an adult peer might even, yet he interacts with her like a teenaged best friend would."

Ruth thought about things for a moment. She looked around at the windowless lab. She thought about how she never would have guessed Anton had been conducting successful time travel experiments down here since October. Finally, she searched her thoughts for any clue as to how she could make Natalia happy if Ruth did not rescind her earlier demands.

When she found no clue, Ruth cheerfully suggested, "Well, in the interests of both our needs, then perhaps you should just continue with things as they were!"

Surprised at her almost mercurial change of position, Anton questioned, "But, Ruth, their safety? I hadn't given it much thought before, but now, I certainly share your concern that they could be in danger!"

Ruth explained, "Indeed, but then, you are working here in a basement without windows, in a location – I am sure – no one except locals have ever heard of; furthermore, who would believe you or the children if any of you suddenly had an urge to share the secret of time travel with them? I suspect the listener would more likely submit your names to the police as believe you. In such case, I would expect you to dismantle things accordingly. I believe the North American vernacular is you'd 'lay low for awhile!"

Recalling that he had run a similar logical pattern of thoughts through his mind shortly after Joe had begun assisting him, Anton agreeably suggested, "Ruth, I think continuing on as we were, is for the best in the short run. Let's give them the good news and continue with another short test before you leave!"

"Fair enough, Anton," began Ruth. Enthusiastic again, she continued, "Let us bring those children back in here and . . . how should I say it? Turn the crank on that machine!"

Briefly serious, Anton explained, "Uh, there is no crank, Ruth. The system is rather more complicated than that." Then he realized he was being a stuffy, nerdy scientist again, and quickly added, "I'll explain it some other time."

Anton smiled, nodded, and then they both went upstairs to assure the two youths that they had sorted things out. Ruth wanted very much for everyone to reconvene for a second session after refreshing the tea and biscuit supply. Natalia and Joe quickly returned to their positive moods and assisted with the preparations. A few minutes later, they all returned to the lab together.

Ruth playfully started things going with a question. As if she were a media reporter, she began, "We're here in Dr. Anton Yakushev's laboratory where he recently perfected time travel. Dr. Yakushev, this must be a satisfying moment for you, sir." Then she held an imaginary microphone towards his mouth and asked, "It is a form of redemption is it not, after your peers in the scientific community chastised you for researching this topic?"

Playing along, but actually really appreciating a chance to speak his mind about that particular subject, Anton began, "I have never been concerned with the nay-saying scientific community. They continue to follow logical paths of physics conveniently prescribed for them by past masters: however, after a hundred years of playing it safe with physics, nary a one of them has made a progression that is any more than theoretical."

Playful still, Ruth thought he was finished, and began, "Excellent, doctor . . ."

Not finished, Anton interrupted, "I know what I have created, Lady Ruth." Then Anton began passionately gesticulating with his hands and continued, "What I have created is as real as your pounding heart – as important as . . ." He paused, and then, considerably raising his voice, he shouted, "Life itself!" Then Anton walked off stage, so to speak, announcing, "Excuse me, I need to collect an item for my next experiment."

Concerned that others might think the boss suddenly resembled a lunatic, Joe explained, "I'm glad he spared us his _Frankenstein_ speech!"

Natalia had not read the novel, but knew a little of it, and asked, "Wasn't that written by a woman?"

Uncertain, Joe answered, "Mary Shirley, or something like that."

Confidently, Ruth interrupted, "You are thinking of Mary Shelley, although I cannot recall if she actually married Percy, but they did declare their love for one another in a graveyard. Of that, I am certain!"

Spooked a bit, Natalia remarked, "Now that is creepy weird!"

Thrilled, Joe added, "Creepy cool!"

Natalia reasoned, "No wonder she wrote a monster story."

Confusing everyone else with her comments, Ruth excitedly continued, "Actually, she later stated that she based the story on a dream image . . . her inspiration was from galvanism and Darwin."

Scratching his head, Joe inquired, "Wasn't Darwin the naturalist guy with the Theory of Evolution?"

Ruth politely answered, "Ah, no actually, that would be his grandson, Charles." Then Ruth continued, " _Erasmus_ Darwin was the scientific poet who, in the first part of his two-part poem _The Botanic Garden_ , actually identified the Big Bang theory before the eventually accredited scientists did."

Curious, Joe asked, "Scientific . . . poet?"

Natalia enquired, "He was a lover and a science geek?"

With a raised finger, Ruth corrected Natalia, saying, "Scien- _tist_ . . . Natalia. No need to be rude!"

Inspired, Joe remarked, "Excellent – there's hope for me yet, eh!"

Continuing, Natalia asked, "So Charles Darwin was his grandson?"

Suddenly seeming blissfully unaware of the doctor's science experiment timetable, Ruth joyfully answered, "Yes, and interestingly, he himself was the ancestor of Erasmus _Earle_ who enjoyed a stint as Common Sergeant of England under Oliver Cromwell!"

In common teen vernacular, Joe asked, "Hey didn't he knock out the royal King of England and take over?"

Diplomatically, Ruth answered, "To be sure, it was a tad more complicated; however, I think you have the gist of it, Joe!"

Thinking it through from a different perspective, Joe asked, "So if he hadn't kicked him out, then we don't get the Theory of Evolution?"

Deliberating over the point for a moment, Ruth finally reasoned, "Well, of course, that's possible; however, I imagine it would have happened eventually."

Triumphantly, Joe declared, "That's what science calls the 'Butterfly Effect', lady!"

Natalia quickly interjected, "Ew, I saw that movie – it was horrific!"

It was a movie Joe had not seen, so he asked, "You mean 'scary' horrific, or 'lousy' horrific?"

Emphatically, Natalia responded, "Both!"

Seeing Anton returning, Ruth inquired, "What's a butterfly effect, Anton?"

Advisedly, Anton answered, "I think at this point, an explanation of that theory would be premature, Ruth."

Suddenly, Joe decided he was the fictional character Austin Powers (possibly, because they shared dental problems). Winking, he asked, "You mean it wouldn't be a very . . . linear . . . way of proceeding, Dr. Yakushev?"

Clearly taking his response seriously, Anton replied, "Correct, Joe!" Then he continued, "There is an order of comprehension to follow at this stage. We should curve around this issue for now. You see Ruth, once a person comprehends order . . ."

Changed from Powers to Dr. Evil, Joe interrupted "Then they can screw with chaos?"

Playful again, Ruth demanded, "Alright you two, I sense another 'ladyperson' explanation is in order." Then she asked, "What do you plan to move through time next, Anton?"

Anton produced what he had gone to collect, and then as a circus host he declared, "Lady Ruth, may I present for your pleasure, a bottle of . . . Coca-Cola."

In a beat, Ruth admitted, "Thank you, dear, but you see, I've had two cups of tea, and, frankly, I rather avoid such gassy beverages."

Joe reasoned, "I don't think she's getting it, doctor."

Anton acknowledged him, saying, "I think you're right, Joe." Then he mentally added to his earlier pronouncement, and began, "Lady Ruth, may I present for your time travel pleasure, a bottle of . . . Coca-Cola!"

Still baffled, Ruth repeated, "Coca-Cola?"

Recalling its recent slogan, Joe declared, "Life Begins Here!"

Anton good-naturedly countered, "It was 'Coke adds life' in my youth, Joe."

Trying to follow, Ruth suggested, "I suppose the connection is 'life' then, doctor?"

Anton admitted, "In this case, that statement is truer than you know, Lady Ruth."

Winking at Natalia, who smiled back, Ruth requested, "Explain . . . in ladyperson!"

Anton obeyed her request, and explained, "Transporting a living thing within the time machine was _not_ the second experiment for me to conduct. You see, living things are complex biological organisms, and regardless of whether or not a scientist believes in the human soul; nevertheless, he would want to either rule that possibility in or out, before he began an actual test. We are still at the Chemistry stage."

Natalia asked, "And how does the scientist go about that?"

Anton continued, "Coca-Cola sits in an inorganic container, but a portion of its contents were at one point, decidedly alive. That is, the sugar came from either sugarcane or corn, both of which are plants. Plants, as you know, are living things. I wanted to experiment on something in a transient state – once alive, but now dead!"

Admiringly this time, Joe added, "Frankenstein again, eh!"

Anton answered, "To some degree Joe; however, the interesting thing about time travel, as I am sure you know, is that it works both forwards and backwards."

Understanding what Anton was thinking about, Joe remarked, "Oh, now it gets interesting!"

Not understanding, Ruth asked, "What does he mean, Anton?"

Anton continued, "Time travel poses several questions, the answers to which are only theories. I think now is the time for a short explanation." He walked to his large portable chalkboard, flipped it to the dry erase side, where he had obviously pre-written some headings, and then continued, "Perhaps the easiest theory to understand is the Novikov Self-consistency Principle. Novikov is also a Russian physicist and . . ."

Natalia interrupted, "Did you ever meet him dad?"

Anton answered, "No, although there would have been a very good chance that he would've been my supervisor had I stayed in Russia." Then he requested, "Let me continue please." Anton continued, "Novikov asserted that if an event exists that would give rise to a paradox due to time travel intervening, well then the probability of that event is zero. In other words, to Novikov, there is only one timeline possible: the one that has happened already."

Ruth asked, "We can't go back and change the past?"

Anton replied, "That is correct Ruth; however, that is his _theory_."

Ruth reasoned, "You mean there are others?"

"But, of course," replied the doctor. He explained, "For all we know we could create alternate universes with one simple act of time travel."

Confused, Ruth inquired, "Alternate universes?"

Enthusiastically, Joe interjected, "Yeah, because of the Butterfly Effect!"

Weakly, Ruth asked, "What's affecting the butterfly again, Anton?"

Unused to ladyperson definitions, Anton began, "It is a component of chaos mathematics – which involves strange attractors in a non-linear system. It is the non-linear aspect of chaos math that links it to time travel, which I have already identified as likely non-linear."

"Anton," began Ruth, "that explanation does _not_ help me to understand."

Joe asked, "Lady, didn't you see _Jurassic Park_?"

"Sorry, but no, Joe, I did not!"

"Well," began Joe, "one character was a chaos mathematician. In one scene he ran a drop of water down the pretty lady doctor's hand, eh."

Not making a connection so far, Ruth politely remarked, "I see."

Joe explained, "Well, the path the water takes can be entirely different depending on even a microscopic shift in the starting point."

Anton took Ruth's hand into his own pointing at the tiny cells on the backside of it, as he added, "Also, Lady Ruth, the woman's hand itself could be the catalyst for the path's possible redirection."

Noticing that Anton was continuing his hold, Ruth commented, "I could see how moving her hand would do it, but your machine is stationary is it not?

As he gestured to the hand he still held, Anton answered, "Ah, yes, it is, but the hand does not have to even move. It could be because of a freckle, an oddly placed hair or even a wrinkle on the hand."

As it concerned her own hand, Ruth was less than impressed hearing the word 'wrinkle' so closely preceding it. She complained, "Doctor, it seems you are suggesting my hand is imperfect in some way. I'll have you know that I have bathed it in top quality lotions these past 20 years or so."

Natalia let out a snort.

Joe reasoned, "The lady in the movie complained in the same way, doctor. It must be a thing with ladies!"

Natalia snorted again.

Apologetic, Anton began, "Sorry, Lady Ruth, I did not mean to suggest . . ." He stopped when he noticed the time. Then Anton remarked, "Oh, dear! Look at the time! The Coke bottle from the future will be arriving very soon!"

Wondering what she had missed this time, Ruth asked, "What Coke bottle?"

Gesturing at the same Coke bottle they had discussed earlier, Anton explained, "Why this one here, of course."

Ruth stated, "But it is here _already_!"

Anton continued, "Yes, but I have decided to send it back in time to about 5 minutes from now."

Ruth reasoned, "But how can you be sure . . . I mean the future hasn't happened yet . . . you could change your mind!"

Joe admiringly interjected, "Lady, he's like a Time Lord now, eh!"

Noticing the reference, Natalia asked, "Like that _Dr. Who_ guy? Then she reasoned, "He's kind of cute . . . but his time machine is _way_ bigger, dad!"

Joe remarked, "Then I guess we'll just have to call him, Dr. Y, eh?"

Still not following the thread, Ruth slowly repeated, "Doctor . . . Why?"

Dr. Y asked, "Why what, Lady Ruth?"

Natalia reasoned, "This could take awhile." She turned to Joe and stated, "I think I'm going to break it up!"

"Good idea," added Joe.

Natalia explained, "The letter Y . . . as in short for 'Yakushev', Lady Ruth." The she spoke to her father, saying, "Anyways, dad, your time machine is pathetically small."

Agreeing, Anton further explained, "Yes, yes, Natalia. I'll work on size and looks later. For now, we need to transport this Coke bottle and move ourselves out onto the front lawn immediately!"

While everyone continued to stand in the lab, Ruth inquired, "Why _with_ the Coke bottle? What is our rush, doctor?"

Freely confessing it, Anton answered, "Because I have no idea what could happen when a bottle that exists here meets it's traveling self from the future. For example, it could cause a rip in time."

Enthusiastically, Joe added, "Yeah, or worse; like in that sci-fi movie where the traveling bad guy meets himself in the past and when his two bodies touch each other, he turns into a puddle of primordial ooze! It was wicked!"

Concerned, Ruth queried, "Joe, do you watch a lot of films?"

Matter-of-factly, Joe answered, "Strictly science fiction, lady."

The two less-scientifically oriented females pondered 'puddles of primordial ooze' for a brief moment and then, with genuine concern, Natalia asked, "Um, if , like, what Joe said were _true_ , then shouldn't we be trying to get as far _away_ from that Coke bottle as possible, dad?"

Concurring with mild sarcasm, Anton questioned, "Didn't I just say we should be leaving, Natalia?"

Natalia remembered another thing that worried her and, attempting to clarify, commented, "Yes, but as I recall, you said to take the Coke bottle _with_ us."

Relaxed, Anton said, "I did."

Very concerned, Natalia strongly suggested, "Well then, considering what Joe just said about ooze and stuff, I don't think that's such a good idea, dad!"

Pointing to the clock, Anton advisedly stated, "Thanks to our dallying, we now have a little over three minutes until the event." Then he explained, " _I_ will carry the Coke bottle to a theoretically safe distance from the experiment. Then, I will find us a safe distance from which to view the results."

As he bolted for the lab door, Joe admitted, "That works for me, doc!"

As she followed him, Ruth declared, "What an excellent idea, Joe!"

As she grabbed her father's free hand, Natalia exclaimed, "Let's blow this joint, dad!"

They ran out to the snow-covered front lawn, each grabbing a jacket on the way. Anton stopped at his car and placed the Coke bottle on its front hood. Then, he and Natalia ran to join the others, who by now were about 50 yards from the car. Once they had all met up, Ruth asked, "If something bad _were_ to happen to this Coke bottle, doctor, would it by any chance resemble an explosion of some kind?"

"I cannot say for certain, Lady Ruth; however, my guess would be that it would more resemble an _im_ plosion. Why do you ask?"

"Well, doctor," began Ruth. Then, diplomatically she explained, "I asked because _your_ car is rather close to _my_ car, and although I am certain that today is possibly the most important day in Earth's scientific history; nevertheless, it is still a day during which I will need, before long, to _drive_ my car. I would _not_ be able to drive my car, if it had in fact exploded because of a chemistry experiment gone awry!"

Joe reasoned, "Actually, lady, this one's more of a physics experiment."

Anton checked his watch, decided he had the time, and then blurted out, "I'll relocate the bottle, Ruth!" He ran towards the Coke bottle; scooped it up; ran with it towards a tree stump; and placed it there. He quickly judged its proximity to the cars as adequate for purposes of any imagined explosion and then returned to the others.

Once returned, he checked his watch again, and saw that approximately two minutes remained until the anticipated time travel event. He began to sing _'Rave On'_ by Buddy Holly.

After he had sung a couple lines, Ruth interrupted, "Excuse me, doctor; not to sound prudish, but why are you singing?"

Pleased with himself, Anton answered, "Because they all told me I was a madman." Then he elaborated, "Moreover, Buddy Holly is my favourite American singer; and finally, because the song is just under two minutes long."

Joe remarked, "Cool!" Then, those who knew the song joined the doctor, and no one asked why anymore.

### Chapter 26: Mantis – Aurica – same day, earlier

In addition to being bad for her psyche at the best of times, this crappy weather also presented an element of fear in Mantis because she had to drive through it. She lacked confidence behind the wheel, even on a sunny day.

When she thought about it though, she suspected there was a good chance her fears were because of a specific unpleasant memory. As she heard another dollop of sleet slap her windshield, obscuring her vision on highway #400, where she continued to follow Ruth Clarkson-Smythe, Mantis recalled the high school teacher who taught the grade 11 driving instruction class.

Mantis remembered that a girl in the class named Madison had revealed the teacher's motives. Madison was the next-door neighbour to Mr. Puerco, the Spanish teacher. She informed anyone in class who listened, that he had admitted in conversation with Madison's mother that he 'taught the class so he could get a free car!'

Mantis's hands gripped the wheel of her rental car as she drove. She imagined she was performing a barehanded strangulation of Mr. Puerco and that the steering wheel was his neck! She recalled the day she went for her simulated test with Mr. Puerco and discovered that a free car was not the only reward he had been enjoying.

Mantis remembered how as part of her test, he had ordered her to drive the car to a large, secluded, and particularly vacant, grocery store parking lot. She had been shocked when he had offered her a guaranteed passing grade if she would service him sexually right there in the car.

As she changed lanes to continue her pursuit of Ruth, Mantis tried to laugh at the memory of Mr. Puerco with his left arm wrapped around the back of her driver's bucket seat when he turned to her just before he made his offer. She managed a smile because in retrospect, she recalled that he had thought he had a very attractive offer for grade 11 females.

He had apparently seen himself as a sort of gigolo with genuine allure as he presented his sweat-scented, porcine-shaped body to her for consideration. She laughed aloud in her rental car now as she thought about her refusal. She had explained, "But, sir, I would want to know that I _really_ passed something like a driving test. If my certificate were false in anyway, then I could kill someone or myself due to insufficient training!"

She recalled that despite her entirely logical answer and that she never actually had the chance to say 'no thanks'; nevertheless, Mr. Puerco flew into a fury. She decided she was unsafe in the car, and opened her door to get out. He just missed grabbing her before she managed to close the door on his hand.

After she replayed this in her mind, she realized that he probably would have forced himself on her then; thus, he would have raped her in that car when she was 17, instead of her being date-raped by the captain of the rugby team when she was a university freshman at 19. Suddenly, this trip up the grey slushy #400 highway more resembled one down #1 bad memory lane.

As a truck passed by on the left, it sent a massive load of slush onto her windshield and this forced Mantis to pay attention to the road in front of her and forget the bad paths of her past.

She turned on the radio and heard a quiz show. As it played, Mantis pretended she was a contestant on a game show. She decided that the two bad experiences she just thought of were two prize options she could ignore. She imagined her conversation with the show's host.

She makes her selection, and asks, "I'll take whatever is behind door number 3, please!"

Dramatically, the host asks, "Are you certain? What if behind door number 3 you find a newspaper-stuffed moose!"

Sarcastically, she replies, "Well, if it is, then at least I know my prize won't be able to rape me!"

Mantis laughed aloud for a moment, and drove on, this time trying to recall _any_ previous driving experience she had ever enjoyed. Then she remembered back a few years to her holiday in Bermuda. The island rules stated 'no foreign cars allowed'; thus, she and any other tourist who chose to drive, rented a moped and toured around the island with the sun tanning them as they drove. _Why couldn't a rich snob like Clarkson-Smythe travel in the tropics instead?_

As another 18-wheel truck passed Mantis on the left, splashing more slush on her window, she shook her head from side to side and let out a 'humph!' The weather had changed from 'sunny with a light breeze' to 'sleet all over my damned windshield' in surprisingly little time.

Mantis became worried. Her current location was Ontario, Canada, driving northward, during a winter snowstorm. _This is screwed!_

She changed radio channels and listened for any report relating to weather. If Ruth continued to drive for a long period in this northerly direction, then Mantis might give up pursuit.

To bolster her spirits, Mantis reminded herself that with $2.5 million at stake, then she should be creative and positive when thinking, instead of fearful and negative. She reasoned that if she could maintain pursuit, and then if Ruth eventually pulled over in some remote gas station – entirely feasible – then Mantis could kill her there!

True, she might have to drive at an unsafe speed to escape the crime scene unscathed, but then again, maybe not. She reasoned that the shock element of a killing would be so severe that Northern Ontarians would react slowly. How many would expect to see one woman shoot another dead in a gas station convenience store using an Uzi?

That is, Mantis recognized that if she were to pull a gun out of her overcoat in almost any American convenience store, then the owner there would pull out a gun and shoot back. Maybe too, patrons within the shop would join in; however, here in Canada, she wondered what the same sort of folks would pull out of their jackets – a fully loaded, semi-automatic, health card?

After almost two hours, but with the weather growing milder again, Ruth pulled off the #11 highway at a southbound road named '6th Street' and then drove in a southerly direction. Mantis followed, hoping that this rural road represented the opportunity she had anticipated. Theirs were the only two cars on it, and so Mantis could allow a gap to open up in her surveillance: she slowed to maintain discretion. She knew she could easily detect Ruth stopping or turning off the road now that they were the only ones on it.

Suddenly, Ruth turned off the road ahead, and so Mantis slowed her rental vehicle, and drove beyond Ruth's turnoff point. As she drove by, she saw Ruth heading westerly, but then her car turned north again, around what appeared to be a gravel driveway bend. Mantis could no longer see Ruth's vehicle due to tree cover. _Great! Thank you very much, Ruth!_

Mantis pulled over intending to analyze her situation. After just a few seconds, she reasoned that she should at least continue driving south until she found a place to turn around. In this way, she would be already pointing in the direction she expected Ruth to head in when she eventually departed. This would also allow Mantis to determine how far away any potential neighbour was to the south. Mantis had not detected any neighbours from the highway turnoff to Ruth's turnoff.

About a mile south, she found a driveway on the east side, and turned around. She returned to Ruth's turnoff; pulled over 50 feet in front of it; shifted her gear into park and turned off the engine. She needed to make a cell phone call to Tigris. She wanted to alert her boss that Ruth was still alive, but that Mantis was in pursuit.

Once connected, she said, "Tigris, this is Mantis."

With uncharacteristic excitement, he exclaimed, "Mantis!" Then he calmly explained, "I am pleased to hear your voice, but will be more pleased to hear it say 'job completed' for, you see, I have not received confirmation yet."

Mantis admitted, "The target remains extant."

"Unfortunate."

She explained, "In an unforeseen series of events, I have tracked her approximately two hours distance by automobile, north of the original intended neutralization location."

Tigris stated, "That does not make sense given our information on the target's habits, Mantis."

Mantis continued, "Agreed. The target has moved to a rural setting. Due to poor sightlines, I cannot see the target. I cannot perform surveillance from my position either; therefore, I am not prepared at present to neutralize at this location."

"Unfortunate," began Tigris. Then he asked, "Do you have any information that might help us moving forward? As you know, the client requested completion today."

Mantis explained, "No more than that I believe the target is planning to travel soon – I spied several suitcases on her bed through my telescopic lens this morning."

"I see. That should be impossible given the information we received from the client directly."

Mantis reasoned, "I can continue to track the target; however, if it leaves the country, then I will require an extension on the time parameter."

Tigris explained, "I will need to contact the client for further instructions before confirming. I will return a call to you within half an hour."

"That is reasonable. In the meanwhile, I will continue my surveillance."

They ended their conversation there. Mantis realized she had a half an hour to kill, and then laughed thinking of the idiom 'to kill'. She had had a few seconds to kill before she would have killed Ruth Clarkson-Smythe about two hours ago, but now she was sitting in a rental car at the side of a rural road she imagined no one had ever heard of, except the locals, with a couple of thousand seconds to kill.

Judging by appearances, Mantis decided she was in farm country. She thought back to her youth, and that she grew up on the edge of the city in Dayton, Ohio. She recalled if she looked in one direction back then, she saw tall buildings from afar, but if she looked in the other direction, she saw cows and grass.

She understood rural settings, and the coldness of winter in Dayton. It was similar to this cold winter in Ontario. After all, the only thing separating heartland America in Ohio from a similar place in Ontario, Canada, was the Great Lakes and a small patch of Michigan.

She continued to sit for a few minutes, while she thought of what to do. She turned her engine on when the outside cold began to permeate the inside of the car. It was colder here than she remembered Dayton being, but then, she computed she would probably require about 6 hours to drive to Dayton from where she sat now, and that each hour she might drive on such a trip she would experience the air warming somewhat.

She also concluded that this rural Ontario spot was as close as she had been to home, since two Christmases ago, when she had visited her older sister and her family there for the holidays. She pulled out her real identification and perused it.

When she returned home for visits, Mantis always used the name she grew up with, Georgina Ivan. Only people in her hometown knew her by this name however, because she had changed it to 'Sheila Brown' before she embarked on her career as an assassin. She had concluded that any prospective assassin employers should only know her by a pseudonym to begin with: for her own protection from them, should she ever require it. This also served to protect family members' identities. If her employer suddenly turned on her, then her family would remain safe.

She legally changed her name after making copies of all her original identification. She kept the originals to use when visiting family so she would not raise suspicion. She smiled thinking to herself that she had thought of everything where it concerned her family and its safety.

On the other hand, she had not thought of her own safety to a satisfactory degree this morning. She should have selected a warmer overcoat before driving to Toronto. She brought her stylish black leather bomber jacket to Canada, intending to remain mostly indoors or in the rental car, but she had not anticipated her current situation. She told herself she would remain toasty warm if she did two things: stay in the car, and keep it running with the heat up.

The sleet had stopped falling by now, but a very light snow was falling in its place. It was perfect skiing snow, but she doubted that it would accumulate on the ground here because the temperature was not below zero. _I know I must be bored when I am talking to myself about the weather!_

She continued to think about the weather, but decided to think about it somewhere else. She recalled her family never took ski holiday trips to Canada, even though this country had the snow for it. They travelled to the eastern USA to ski, and once Georgina turned 13 and no longer cared for winter; her parents instead took her and her sister to Florida or South Carolina for warm winter holidays.

In fact, she realized she had never been to Canada as a youth because even when her family made their one pilgrimage to Niagara Falls, they had visited Goat Island, USA, and camped locally rather than cross over to the glitzy Canadian side. She remembered being a young adult before she had learned that, usually, America features the fabricated, shiny vacation spot, whereas, Canada features the untouched and natural one. The two countries had things reversed at Niagara Falls.

Thinking about Niagara Falls caused Mantis to recall crossing the border in Erie about a week ago, after acquiring the weapons arsenal in New York that she needed to complete this job. It was ironic that it was almost impossible to buy the weapons she needed in Canada, yet she could drive across its border with whatever she needed stuffed into the car trunk.

Tigris had assured her that Canadian border guards would not search a pretty, white female about 30 years old, who sported a $2.5 million smile upon her face. _Nothing to declare!_

Then Mantis remembered that she had brought a sweater, which she threw in the trunk after she picked up the rental car but before leaving her apartment in Philadelphia. She pulled the trunk lever and went to retrieve the sweater. She found it quickly but before she closed the trunk, she decided to risk removing the Uzi from its case, and to place it in the passenger's seat beside her.

After she returned to the car, she unzipped her bomber jacket intending to remove it before putting the sweater on under it. With one arm out of the jacket sleeve, Mantis noticed a set of headlights approaching her from the north. She paused for a moment, and then noticed that the vehicle approaching her had something on its top. 'Something' could be a problem; regardless, she did not want to appear to be stuck in this spot; thus tempting passing motorists to provide assistance.

She pulled her arm back into the jacket, and pretended to be using her cell phone. She knew that by doing this, the driver of the passing car would assume she was a dutiful citizen who had obeyed the law and pulled off the road to accept a phone call.

As she placed the phone to her ear, she noticed that the Uzi sat uncovered in the front passenger seat beside her. She quickly spread her sweater to cover the gun completely, and then continued with her fake call just as a car with the decaled letters O.P.P. on its door, pulled to a stop across the road from her about 25 feet in front of her car.

Emerging from within was a tall guy in a police uniform – O.P.P. stood for Ontario Provincial Police! He smiled as he approached her car. Mantis respected that she would have to engage in a conversation with him. She knew instantly that she needed to appear the opposite of a 'female motorist in need'.

Pretending someone was speaking to her, Mantis said, "I'm going to have to call you back, Trudy; there's a police officer come to check on me." Pausing to increase the realism, Mantis then nodded, smiled, and said, "Yeah, love you too, girl!" She pretended to end the call and then politely addressed the officer, asking, "Good afternoon officer, can I assist you in some way?"

Hearing the petite, very pretty woman, utter _his_ line, the constable remarked, "Uh, no ma'am; actually, I stopped to check on you. When I saw the car at the side of the road with someone in it, I assumed they may be in need of roadside assistance!"

Cheerfully, Mantis explained, "Golly, officer, that sure is sweet of you, but I'm fine! You see, my girlfriend called me on my cell, and well . . ." She stopped to change her tone and then continued as if she were repeating a phrase an elderly authoritative male had told her. Mantis stated, "I know that the law requires me to pull over to deal with cell phone calls!"

Pleased she was obviously obedient to the law, he remarked, "Yes, ma'am, that's correct!"

As she spied the officer's cruiser was empty, and that he was probably 6'2'' and about 200 pounds, Mantis rambled on, saying, "Yeah, so I did that, and you know, I think it's a great law, officer. Driving is hard enough without distractions like that!"

Impressed, he suggested, "Ma'am, that's a good attitude to maintain. You want to be obeying the law at all times. I'll let you get back to your call now."

Mantis noticed that his jacket was open enough that she could see his nametag on his uniform: PC Shempherd.

She concluded, "Thank you officer, and thanks for caring!"

"You're welcome, ma'am. Have a good day, eh," said PC Shempherd, and then he returned to his cruiser and drove slowly southward.

After that exchange, Mantis decided to turn the heat up higher and forget the sweater. She needed it to hide the gun! She dare not leave the vehicle to put it back in the trunk – the cop might see her!

She glanced at the car clock. It read 12:34. If Tigris called her as promised, then he would be doing so no later than in 10 more minutes. Mantis began to think of a story she could tell to the cop if he returned and she were still sitting here.

True to his word though, Tigris returned her call at 12:41.

He explained, "Tigris here, Mantis. Unfortunately, I have no illuminating information for you. The client suggested that since the target is rich, she is likely planning a holiday. The client applauded your attention to this detail and encouraged you to continue pursuit."

Annoyed, Mantis complained, "But Tigris, I can't get on board a plane with this arsenal. I'll have to ditch it all in the airport parking lot. Do you have an operative who can pick the car up and deal with the contents?"

Sighing, he answered, "I will have to find one, Mantis. This case is priority one. The client insisted that you complete the task by Sunday at midnight."

She explained, "Message received. I had better end this call soon, Tigris. I just had a visit from the local police. If I wait around much longer I could draw another visit."

Hoping to offer advice, Tigris asked, "Which police force was it?"

She answered, "A group called O.P.P. The officer just left in his cruiser a few minutes ago. I cannot risk another visit."

"Understood," he replied. Then he added, "Contact me when you discover her travel destination. I will have someone in place to meet you with a new arsenal at the landing point."

They ended the call, and Mantis made mental notes of the new plan. She had to kill Clarkson-Smythe by this Sunday at midnight. The time was now just before 1 PM on Friday; thus, she had less than 60 hours to complete the hit, but where was Ruth going? Mantis reminded herself that $2.5 million was enough money for her to do a lot of high fashion shopping, fine dining, and sunbathing. _This will be worth it – eventually!_

She comforted herself knowing that Tigris would be ultra-efficient also because as an employer, he always took a percentage cut of the hit fee. If she stood to make $2.5 million, he was going to earn a half million, essentially for playing telephone secretary.

If it disturbed Mantis that Tigris made so much for doing so little, then it truly annoyed her that the client had such faulty information about Ruth's plans and habits: who was her client and why were they so poorly informed? _Probably some asshole politician – most likely a Republican!_

### Chapter 27: Ferengson – Nazca, Peru – February 22, very early

With his arms folded behind his head, Sven lay on the pillow of her bed and reminded himself that although Chuck may have sent his crew home, yet he remained in Nazca. Chuck was almost certainly spying on Sven for General Wessel. If his suspicions about Chuck were true, then Sven reasoned that he should not stay with a woman for the entire evening. Therefore, at approximately 3 AM Sunday morning, he left her and returned to his hotel.

Once returned to his hotel suite, Sven drank black coffee, and ate some fruit and nuts. He read everything that interested him about the world beyond, on his laptop. He could read on his laptop in Swedish or English, but he shunned the local newspapers because he did not speak Spanish.

At 7:45 AM, he departed for what he named his 'pre-inspection inspection'. Clarkson-Smythe's team of broads were coming to inspect the mining facility tomorrow morning, and Sven promised the General that everything would be in order beforehand.

Sven had already informed the mine supervisor to alert security that he would be on site performing an inspection this morning; thus, to ignore any security breach alerts at the mine between 8:30 AM and 11:30 AM.

This was especially important because the security company loved to bill Malevcon for emergency visits on Sundays, as Malevcon found out last Sunday when something, or someone, set off the alarm thus causing a costly check of the facility. Malevcon paid a double rate premium on Sundays.

Sven was sure the culprit was a local loser that Malevcon had denied employment. After a few too many _cervezas_ and a couple of large shots of _Pisco_ , some rejected would-be miner decided he had enough courage to express his anger at Malevcon by setting off its fence alarm.

As Sven drove to Malevcon in his company Humvee, he glanced at the time, and slowed down. There was no point in arriving early, as he could not enter the property any earlier than 8:30 AM. In a short time, he pulled into the vacant parking lot, turned off the car, and then waited until 8:29 before leaving the vehicle. At 8:31, Sven shut down the security system and entered the site.

Malevcon's security system was two-tiered, but simple to use once an employee learned the basics. The on-site system consisted of the four areas within the mining site under constant local video surveillance. This system could theoretically stay on the whole time that Sven needed to inspect but he would turn it off anyways as a precaution: any video of him walking around the grounds the day before a big inspection could later become evidence.

If Clarkson-Smythe demanded video access, then the General would want to grant this privilege because otherwise, she would claim Wessel was denying her transparency. Sven would not allow that evidence to come into existence. If Clarkson-Smythe demanded video from _this_ Sunday, there would simply be none available for the period of time Sven was on site. _Sorry, Lady Ruth, I guess we had a malfunction from 8:30 to 10:30 that morning. Too bad!_

The second security system; however, was a bit more complicated, and Sven had to manipulate it carefully. Malevcon hired out its second system to a remote security company. The Rodriguez Bros. Security Company had a contract with Malevcon to monitor a touch sensitive system from their central base in Nazca.

When a Malevcon employee activated this system, then, within a short period thereafter, anything moving within the activated zone would set off an alarm. Malevcon investigated all such alarm alerts itself with an on-site security guard, except on Sundays, when the Rodriguez Bros. handled security alone: Malevcon refused to pay any employee double wages to guard its facility on a Sunday.

When something or someone had tripped the alarm last Sunday, it cost the company almost double the wages of its normal security guard to have a Rodriguez employee drive to the site to investigate the breach.

This sort of thing pissed off the General who was a particularly cost-sensitive employer. Sven had his own secret word for it: cheap. Whatever he called it, Sven needed to respect that he should shut down the Rodriguez system upon his arrival, and not activate it again until he left.

Even though he did not intend to use any more than a fraction of the two hours he had reserved, nevertheless Sven would play it safe. He would perform his entire inspection with both security systems completely shut down. He reasoned that the safer he did things now, then the sooner he was on a jet plane flying out of this hellhole. _Twenty minutes ought to do it!_

After Sven had shut down the Rodriguez system inside the main gate, he did the same thing with the Malevcon video system. After that, he headed directly to the mineshaft area because it held all the evidence of illegal activity.

As he walked, Sven imagined himself conducting the tour the next day. He tried to anticipate the questions the old broad geologist would ask him so he could prepare suitable answers. He would construct answers that minimized or eliminated suspicion.

He decided he should adopt two personal attitudes for the duration of the inspection. First, he should be obsequiously compliant. He should agree to do anything the inspector wanted with a toadying smile on his face. He laughed to himself as he imagined falsely praising the inspector's knowledge and dedication to such a noble cause.

Secondly, Sven decided he should also take on a feebleminded aspect. This would lure the inspector into feeling superior to Sven not just in her professional capacity for the day, but also as a person in general. He would appear to be a dimwitted fool, thus incapable of even conceptualizing illegal activity at a mining site. _Politically correct idiots!_

In a few minutes, Sven arrived at his facade and scrutinized its entranceway. He had worked with Chuck on a plan to hide the intended location of the directional drill. They settled on Chuck blasting and excavating a large, rectangular area that would eventually hold the drill; however, Chuck left as much rock in tact in front of that area as possible in the form of a makeshift wall. At the top of that wall, Ferengson had built a small room, almost like that of a school janitor. That room would have a false doorway at the back with a set of stairs leading down into the blasted out area.

Sven looked at the entrance to his small room. He had hand-painted the English words _Equipment Room: Authorized Personnel Only_ below the same thing in Spanish painted by Pedro, the mine foreman.

He thought that the door seemed as inconspicuous as possible. He had built the room small enough so that even if the inspector wanted to look within then she would see only a tiny broom closet and quickly move on.

Sven entered the room and stood for a moment to examine the space. He admired his deft touch at adding dusty soil to the burlap rolls he placed to cover the false doorway. The dust added a neglected aspect to the room. _Piece of cake!_

He examined the floor next, and noted there were still faint traces of his dusty footprints from his being the last person in the space. He decided that he should sweep the floor to be safe and to spread some of the floor dust onto the walls and equipment for added authenticity of neglect.

As he swept, Sven looked towards the floor, and before long, he noticed his EMD warning light flashing. That was odd because his Electronic Mineral Detector should have no reason to flash. He thought about what could cause his EMD to do this. Normally it detected metals or minerals in the soil. It also had a secondary function in that it alerted its user of potentially dangerous poisonous, electronic, or radioactive emissions occurring within a limited radius: it was the latest in innovative technology.

When he moved towards the secret doorway, the readings grew stronger. As Sven walked towards the door, he remembered that Chuck had informed him he had set off one last charge in the blast zone the last day he worked; the same day Chuck sent his crew home. Chuck said he was setting off what he called a 'fracture blast' that would crack the south-east corner of the blast zone indicating to Malevcon's miners where to begin drilling when they were eventually able to deploy the directional drill.

Chuck had said his fracture blast was a personal touch he had been developing within his field of speciality dynamiting. Sven recalled that he had largely disregarded Chuck's message because he was busy planning his own night out on the town. It had seemed to Sven that Chuck wanted to brag about being an industry innovator at the time, and so Sven had nodded politely while thinking about his own plans.

As his EMD continued to flash, Sven decided to check the source of the alert. To make his way to the source of this anomaly, Sven had to move aside his perfectly placed rolls of burlap and pull to one side, the stone-coloured flap behind the rolls. He passed through the hidden doorway, turned on the headlamp on his safety helmet, and began his descent of the crudely fashioned steps to the blast zone below.

As he descended, he thought about returning to the main office to collect a gas mask, but it was too far away. Sven understood that the sophisticated sensors in the EMD unit would alert him long before potential toxicity became an actual health threat.

When he arrived at the bottom of the staircase, Sven scanned the room through dim lighting. He discovered that the corner where Chuck must have conducted his fracture blast was the lone source of the EMD readings. _Perhaps it's a giant vein of gold! I must move closer!_

He approached the area slowly because the only light in the place, besides his helmet lamp, was one small overhead light bulb that illuminated the staircase just enough for someone to see safely down the stairs.

Suddenly, Sven stopped completely. He could feel goose bumps growing large and numerous on his skin. He could not recall the last time he felt goose bumps on his skin that a woman did not cause and even those did not linger as these ones were.

As he approached the crack in the southeast wall, he wondered child-like, if perhaps the hole was too narrow for a man his size to pass. _Why the hell didn't Chuck report this!_

Of course, Sven knew he would receive no answer down here. Sven Ferengson was alone. He wished he were not alone.

As he approached the hole, he thought he detected a light source beyond. To be certain of this however, he needed to turn off his headlamp. He hesitated when it occurred to him that this action would leave him in the dark on this side of the hole. _Will I be afraid in this darkness?_

He told himself that only children were afraid of the dark and then felt at once both glad there were no children here to witness his fear, and sad there were no children here to hold his hand.

The doctor felt that he could really use some friends right now and then he remembered that he had some. He had his little steel amigos with him: the extra bullets for his loaded gun. Sven pulled it out of its holster and pointed it straight ahead in his right hand.

As Sven passed through the hole into the space beyond, he turned on his headlight and saw that he had arrived in a perfectly formed and proportioned room. The walls were black, but running around the center of the room was a pulsing red light. When he examined it more closely, he surmised something had damaged it. _Chuck's dynamite blast?_

As he looked around the room, his helmet's headlamp illuminated what resembled equipment of a type Sven could not identify. Before he could think of what someone would use the equipment for, he located a closed door. He double-checked the safety catch on his gun, making sure he had unlocked it.

Spotting a rather hi-tech looking button on the very tall door, Sven slowly moved his left hand towards it, wondering what could be beyond.

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### Next book in the series: _A Day of Discovery_
