LOST HIGHWAY

by Zac Funstein

  “You like my clothing Vonne?” exclaimed the other man, perhaps noticing this attention. Vonne measured his reply carefully.

  “Your penchant for seperates is striking.”

  “The difference is much like the difference between buying an integrated HiFi or individual hardware - the former is the easy option but the latter almost always performs better. But this is not the moment to debate fashion trends.”

  An ATM card that has hung around him on a chain next to the sodium dithionite powder implement is inserted into a slot.

  “All entrances that are installed for sensitive areas such as telephone closets, network-areas, or anywhere that has access command have to have an automatic opening/ closing device such as this.”

  There was an electronic beep.

  “Very modern in keeping with the steel/glass surrounds.”

  “We’ve tried everything. Biometrics has been used as well as other access control products from a badge reader to a conventional key but this seems to work better than any rival.”

  “A conventional lock/key Andreeff how old fashioned.”

  “Many companies are starting to use RFID, magnetic badge cards such as this, or other types of electronic access, which may lead one to believe that such is obsolete. The benefit of carrying lock-picks with you might seem laughable in this techno-era but it is a very real need. This all takes us to when we initially started-it was just my wife Azura plus myself.”

  “I didn’t know you were married-I had you as single somehow-you didn’t seem to have that domestic harassed stamp that most deem necessary.”

  Monto became guilty at coming down so hard on the institution of matrimony.

  “It doesn't appeal to you the state of holy matrimony by the sound of it.”

  “I’m not its biggest advocate true. Comforte will give us a grilling for saying that when I get home.”

  Comforte Léveillé was Monto’s partner after his marriage had broken up. They had often talked about tying the knot but had never gotten around to it. Both were shy of the institution if the truth were known-they were scared of the commitment as well as being hurt.

  “I digress you were telling us about when you first started.”

  “We only had a small office then-sometimes the entrance would blow open. Azura would stack boxes against it to keep it closed-but the wind was so strong enough even to move even heavy crates. Then soon after when we’d got more customers-when the working-day was done we had the option of being locked manually or by an expensive electronic lock operated from behind the reception desk. May I ask do you have any security where you are Monto?”

  “A little-the vast majority of us (arrogantly) live on that side of the fence because we have been conditioned to do so. We think the entire world is against- out to get us-not realizing it is our hostility that creates the need for barriers in the first instance. If we had no personal territory there would be no need for exclusion.”

  “Naturally you live in the world of security it is what you do. It is not just giving out free invisible marker pens.”

  The bookcase swung open to reveal an elevator with shiny silver panelling plus a set of flush buttons as before almost indistinguishable from what had been encountered. A small silver key that had hung next to the spoon slid into the slot in the control panel. It was invited mockingly.

  “Our transportation has arrived if you would step this way. This always takes us to when I met an Amish family once on their first trip in the big-city. They were amazed by almost everything they saw, but father and son were especially fascinated by the ‘lift’ as they called it. The father, never having seen an elevator before, confessed. ‘Son, I have never seen anything like this in my life’.”

  “Were they hurt?”

  “No they acclimatized quickly enough.”

  They stepped in-the inside was hospital spec large enough to accommodate a stretcher then they heard a loud clang followed by a motor whirring. The elevator came to a stop with a loud groaning jolt. Vonne who still had the sensation of being watched glanced down at the elevator button panel there was nothing but above was a tiny CCTV camera that must have been recording everything. As they begun to move it was like when Comforte had been first met. Her grasp brushed his blazer, another grabs his shirt. Then they bumped against the elevator's shiny silver sides falling to the floor. The elevator lurched as they giggle then laughed. They twisted, turned, taking off essential clothes; the rush coming fast, furious. Comforte slammed into the elevator entrance, whimpering in shoving down hard on the open button. The elevator slid open-they bounced off the shiny surface landing with a soft thump on the carpet.

  “What was that noise we just heard?”

  “Nothing please don’t alarm yourself all will begin again in a moment.”

  Despite it being all glass it wasn't very pleasant to have to go over about being stuck in an elevator part way down. Only the side of the elevator showed since it was near a parking-zone nestled into the outer rim of the hill. The telegraph wires outside along which Morse code messages once pulsed still dangled in the breeze-but none of the people passing by seemed to notice. Many moons ago when the elevator Vonne was riding did indeed stop operating enroute to its destination it had been worse. Then they could see out-only the metal sides of their iron prison. When an engineer did arrive the relief was tangible.

  After a while they started again for no apparent reason-now it didn’t matter if it was clear or not because they were underground. This observation seemed to increase his anxiety somewhat.

  They arrived in a tunnel which was just a little taller than them both which stretched off into icy darkness. Monto reached up to touch the icy ceiling which seemed unnaturally cold.It was motioned to follow him. It seemed a wise decision since it was believed sure that a labyrinthian network of corridors like this existed-getting lost would present no difficulty. A warning came:

  “Be careful of the metal-pipes plastic conduits that criss-cross the ceiling they can be quite treacherous. Have you got the packet of sodium-dithionite?”

  The packet which had been given to Monto upon entering the elevator was clutched tightly-a sigh of relief was given that it hadn’t been mislaid in the trouble getting here. Who would have believed the slaughter of a girl a year into her majority could cause so much trouble or that this package could find who was responsible.

  “Good because, we're almost there.”

  Andreeff nudged him slightly almost as if making a lewd remark. “Care to take a little foretaste-I wouldn’t recommend it-don’t be fooled by my theatrics earlier this isn’t some interesting narcotic but a deadly toxin.”

  “Thanks for your warning this was not my intention I can assure you.”'

  Vonne had done a turn on the ND (Narcotics Division) so knew of old that when it came to ‘tasting’ small was the ‘watchword’. Many a good op had gone down on accidentally imbibing ‘bad dope’ with strychnine or arsenic in. The Ancient Chinese were not totally stupid when they employed tasters-who must have dropped dead once in a while.

  They arrived in a small room perhaps cell would be better for there was barely enough space apart for a table with some equipment on. There were so many goodies on it that the truism that although ordinary acts of theft or shoplifting can be deliberate, motivated by a need, a desire, peer pressure, or rebellion, in extremely rare cases some just took things for the fun of it, seemed to demand expression. It took the newcomer to when as a teenager his mother planned to get another lodger in (as if they we're not too cramped already) which meant turfing him plus his computer out of the ‘spare’ - cramming everything owned into one tiny corner of an attic.Yes, Rogero had been a quiet lodger, what little had been seen of him.

  Having arranged himself as the new caller examined a half opened toxic-bible (a rather enigmatically titled ‘secret-toxins’) the author has done justice to the chapters covering specific poisons such as corrosive irritant ,tropical, as well as asphyxiants.

  “I alw
ays conduct my researches down here-it is quiet for one if a little cramped. I can store my gear without dread of it being tampered with.”

  Vonne enquired just managing to make out the cover of the toxic-manual.

  “Who is Jessamine LaGarde-I have never heard of her.”

  “The great Quebecois toxicologist-a genius but that is just my biased view. I refer to him often.”

  Arkady politely enquired.

  “We must leave Jessamine for another meeting. Now if you would give us the package so we can begin.”

  This having been complied with the ‘fantastic voyage’ into chemistry began. An example that came to Monto that was dismantling a Chevrolet engine at an amateur mechanic class- one where the product that's promoted is hardly ever mentioned by name it is so rare-to special to even see-except on rare occasions such as this. Vonne was trying not to come across like the assistant at the plastic baggage wrap station in an overcrowded airport (everything seemed pristinely new as if so bound) when another person was heard entering the fray. This tall figure gaunt, eerie person dressed in all plaid, with a large brimmed hat plus string bow tie had to stoop, because the tunnel's height could not accommodate him either, plus presumably his unfamiliarity with this terrain-for this stranger seemed as unsure of his whereabouts as they had been. The starkness cast onto his appearance made him seem like the very incarnation of the Demon of the Underworld himself although when met above ground afterwards the same person seemed relatively innocuous, so that the assumption could only be drawn that this unique environment was the cause. There was something about being underground that made anyone sinister regardless of who it was.

  “Ah Arkady there you are I have been hunting all over for you. Your theme park seems to be getting bigger constantly.”

  This was presumably a reference to the growing love for using technical ‘toys’ for want of a better description-that which made discerning the ‘ finds at the scene’ easier. When incriminating material was queuing at the boarding (a euphemism for when the machinery put the contents in abeyance whilst being gone over)-it was like waiting to go on a roller coaster ride. Arkady did indeed seem to have an excited little child within him although this was suppressed.

  When Walt Disney Co. dug into its pockets to help Euro Disney, operator of the troubled Disneyland Paris theme park complex bail it out it was often it was his uncle who had managed the entire operation-so there was a childlike aspect to him that must have been plundered. Another project, a theme park in Jordan now took up his efforts which involved creating virtual replicas of favourite characters from history for the edification of the jaded senses of a demanding public.

  “I suppose I’m entitled to considering my heritage-there has always been a love of new innovations within us. But I am neglecting my manners who is our new initiate Andreeff?”

  “Vonne Monto-who seems to burdened with finding the attacker of a teenager on a remote piece of highway.”

  For those who didn’t know about Arkady, his great great grandfather Leonti Kudryashov was the father of information theory in Russia, that which made possible the leap from telephones/ telegraphs to computers. Leonti it was said was instrumental in aiding Lenin’s revolution plus the changes of J. Stalin whom was a close associate. Baron Kudryashov, a Russian diplomat, linked the Summer Palace of the tsar in St Petersburg to the Winter Palace using a telegraph with rotating magnetized needles before their overturning occurred based on Kudryashov’s principals. Thanks to the Baron the heyday of the telegrapher as a highly paid, highly skilled information worker was over; the telegraphers brief tenure as members of an elite community with mastery over a miraculous, cutting-edge technology had come to an end as quickly as it had begun.

  Whimsically, Arkady notes that the Dutch called a remote volcano Kudryashov after the Baron.

  “Well what does it say Arkady on your readout- don’t keep us in suspense?”

  “What we have here I believe are the remnants of a torn pair of jeans.”

  “It is Andreeff-a term that covers a multitude of sins-there are jeans of everything practically these days. Now you are going to ask what type the answer is I don’t really know-that is for you to find out. I am not a fabric doyen.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone leaps out as per a suggestion.”

  “Not immediately.”

  As they made their way to the surface again a growing sense they were close occurred.

  Vonne Monto much like Onni Kurri was one to delegate if it was sensed that a lot of hard spadework was in the offing- this was no exception.

  Underlying general whipping post Odovacar Moffin (sometimes known as ‘Odo’) was deemed reliable- one who if not exactly a maverick then able to ‘get things done’ on time to boot. Stocks ‘n pillory, irons, might be institutions that proved a holy terror to law-breakers but whipping post’s were the worst Odovacar quipped who always wore the same clothes for a session to work. Moffin had a huge wardrobe but seemed to take comfort in one item such as the bright Hawaiian shirt worn now as Odo drove to the Herman Ulyanov Ltd subsidiary that was nearby. Odo called it his lucky shirt. Marcela held it sometimes, breathing in Odo's faint scent. The worn material was soft ‘n cool. There must have been a success of some kind whilst wearing this for his T-shirt that read ‘County Jail Escapee,’ plus his lucky running-hat as called were not brought out as much.

  His live-in partner Marcela Semelová as always tried to placate him when doubts set in.

  Colonel Semelová-her distant ancestor- had bought the land they lived on after returning from the war, had given next-to-nothing an acre for it. It was solid scrub then-nobody even deemed it of value. Now it was prime real estate beyond what the colonel could possibly envisage, unrecognisable from the wasteland it had become. That was the Semelová for you always turning up trumps when the cards were stacked against you.

  In the hollow of this tiny valley was a nondescript building, that the cool, humid air after the warmth of the city, plus patches of fog seemed to accentuate the creepiness of; the tinge of car exhaust seemed to linger.

  Several floors were hollowed out of the hillside beneath the Research Station, so that the facility could withstand a direct hit from a German bomb. There were terrible goings on underground the nearby community said-sometimes they could hear screams. This seemed to be the season for ‘going underground’.

  The cold sounds of their steps echoing behind them was reminiscent of the underground adventure with Arkady. This was constructed in the days of the hippies- today's computer methods have made much of the equipment installed then (microfilm, miniature cameras plus invisible ink) now look as dated as Harry Palmer's chat-up lines.

  Office staff were encouraged to dispense with wearing formal business suits (specifically ties) to dress instead in smart casual clothing so everyone was suitably relaxed. Pavel Dvořák the recent owner was a prime example of a new broom sweeping clean-introduced many revolutionary features. The ancient pottery in a hermetic glass brought home how Mayan civilization which was very advanced had a sophisticated knowledge of science, art, plus astronomy. Most of the artisans that made this pottery came from rural backgrounds were poorly educated, barriers for anyone who wanted to get on in their version of a modern urban-commercial civilisation, the inscription said. Pavel Dvořák Snr. (who had the distinction of knowing Herman Ulyanov when old) had kept the artefact despite entreaties to remove it.

  This for him was a living example of how we cement our relationships with barren hollow dialogues devoid of meaning.

  “I understand completely where you are coming from Mr. Moffin-this is something of a moonshot.”

  “A moonshot-I don’t quite understand.”

  “It’s quite easy- you have the fabric at the terrible scene-you know it is made under license to us now you must make a connection in order to solve the enigma. Your superiors are eager to see everything reach a resolution-you are as anxious to please them in order to get various accolades-to move up in the career str
ucture-to get the key to the executive sprucing-up suite.”

  “You use the same dye to taint carpets as is utilised on denim?”

  Pavel seemed to become alert.

  “It is really quite wonderful, I truly wish it was the beginning of a trend, not a short-lived fad. I believe that it was found quite by accident. Naturally they both have the need of a hard-wearing appeal so it seemed to make common sense somewhere. Unlike more transitory fads/ fashions, however, some manias, ‘societal-panics’ as I call them- have real lasting economic consequences it would seem.”

  “We have determined the dye is there anyway which is the same but can we find out if it is from a particular source.”

  “That is an interesting question i’m here I'm brought up against my own incompetence. You must put yourself in my position Mr Dvořák we are asked to be well versed in so many disciplines how we are supposed to master them all.”

  The impression given was that one of slovenliness, might have been his charge but improvements had been made.

  “You run the company but its finer distinctions of the product are not known to you?”

  “Like I mentioned earlier this is made under licence there is little we can do. It is like a patent medicine-there might be many imitations with the same effect but we cannot be held responsible for all of them-since we have no connection to the production.”

  “Does the dye have a title a series of nondescript letters perhaps?”

  “We call it Gabriel-that was the working-title which stuck- after the person who devised it. We tried a lot of gambits before to see which would fit.I will ask company wallah Joseph Wilkins who deals with this side of things. If you have the carpet-fibre with you.”

  This is given over since such a request had been anticipated. Dvořák then disappears (that is not literally) but to another part of the underground bunker to return rather like a gaucho returns to the realm of the symbolic, to a ghost-town with its lawyers, banks plus honky-tonk saloons-it is deemed however fancifully. Joseph is in tow a lithe man in a lab-coat who gave his verdict very quickly.