***
The plane set down on an abandoned airstrip, constructed during the second World War southwest of Paris, where a cadre of Karim's associates circled in waiting vehicles. A heartfelt farewell followed, in which we agreed friendship and understanding between our two cultures was the only path to take in deference to future generations. The first step on this journey, however, began with the understanding I was obligated to establish Khalid's burgeoning gandora business in North America. With that and a shake of the hand, Karim arranged my transportation to the outskirts of the city, where I commenced my pleasurable hike through the most fascinating and beautiful metropolis created by humankind.
"A bit more, Monsieur Baron? It is my best." Not waiting for a response, Renaldo filled my glass anew. "And no sign of your young friend still."
"Thank you, kind sir. I'm sure she'll be along in good time."
"Enjoy the wine," he sighed heavily, "and return to your thoughts."
With the deep sea disposal of the Tunis flash drive, I had effectively destroyed Chip/Silly's plan to enable and employ Bridgework's financial landslide. Any hope of instant and endless fortune found at the rainbow's end on a keyboard had been dismissed through the destructive effect of the saltwater ossuary in which the CerebStix now rested.
Confirmation of my belief was provided by the worthless cad's own actions and behavior. If the Paris flash drive itself could be manipulated to open a portion of the virtual vaults of wealth the world over -- and Chip/Silly had preceding knowledge of its singular power -- he would have made it his objective long prior to my involvement in the ignoble Loo mess. Instead, he was forced to traipse half the globe tethered to his father-in-law by a tight leash holding forth the mystery and promise of eternal life. Because of what Chip/Silly offered, Bridgework held him in high esteem. Valued him. Supported him. Financed him. Needed him.
Had him marry into the family!
Using Chip/Silly's decision making process as a truth applicator, if there was but one of the flash drives critical to all the rest, it would have to be the Machu Picchu. Had it been the Mount Rushmore, the game would have been over before trekking to South America. Should Tunis had been so critical, Chip/Silly would have made the trip himself in place of Bridgework. And if Paris was home to the omnipotent memory device, what purpose was served by announcing it to Pat Aundybach with such fanfare? Further, why were Angel, Stinky and Ethelene held as a form of collateral against the Machu Picchu CerebStix?
More importantly, old boy, if Chip/Silly ultimately believes only one flash drive is critical, why would Bridgework insist on collecting them all? Chip/Silly is lying, old nut. All four flash drives have always comprised the equation!
"Monsieur von dek Horn?"
Before me stood but a nymph of a girl, her formfitting biking attire seemingly but an additional layer of skin in a slightly contrasting color. "That would be me," I said, rising from my seat and offering a slight bow.
"A message for you, sir." She lifted her sunglasses and issued a freshly sealed envelope from her black leather delivery bag.
"And your client would be?" I handed her a generous gratuity.
"I'm not sure, monsieur," she smiled, cocking her head, "I'm just a simple courier."
"I'm sure you are, then."
Seated again, I slit open the seal and produced an invitation from the Galerie des Expatriés Insipides, requesting me as an honored guest at the evening's private unveiling of a reputed Monet work entitled Minuit bu à L'appel Final -- "Midnight Drunk at Final Call" -- a rarely seen Impressionistic masterpiece long held in the collection of the well-known international investment firm and host of the affair, the Woolamaloo Gang Hedge Fund. As thankful as I was for being included in the exclusive assembly, I also calmed a slight tremble produced by the thought of once more having misjudged the malignant capabilities of Chip/Silly. There was no alternative but to walk into the subterfuge prepared on his terms.
I hastily flipped through the paper to the cultural section, scanning the arts and performance announcements. The lack of any advert for such an important rediscovery of historical art was significant, spelling trouble if I did not take cautionary steps for personal security when attending.
He knows I'll come for Stinky. The ultimatum for Angel was already issued. He will assume I possess both the Machu Picchu and Tunis flash drives. Obviously, he wishes to determine who leaves the premises alive.
I brainstormed and discarded many potential rescue scenarios, all of which were too obvious and therefore improbable. Chip/Silly's cleverness and, dare it be said, genius negated any normative response. The weight of time began to bear down upon me. Rubbing my brow in frustration, an item in the lower right corner of the busy spread jumped off the page at me, suggesting what I hoped held part of the solution for my trouble: The Carnaval Du Diminutif, under the direction of Mr. Pershing Cantilever, had arrived in the city for a three-week engagement and would be ensconced at the Trifle Tower for the duration. Immediately, the compass needle in my noggin swung to a new direction.
"More merlot, Monsieur Baron?"
"No thank you, Renaldo. I must be on my way to visit an old friend before popping into a gallery opening."
"Ah, such a busy man with the ladies." Renaldo's remark sounded more a lamentation than compliment. "Do you wish to freshen up first?"
"No time, I'm afraid," I replied, checking my watch and straightening my ascot. "It's fortuitous I'm already wearing my best bib and tucker."
Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys] Page 53
