by Cole Reid
I have revered only one man in my life, my father. I have a deep hope that my son will be what my father was but I have no part to play in it, unless those characteristics are in our blood. Then, perhaps, I’ve put my father in my son. Otherwise, I’ve grown quite short with men. They are happy to do one thing then happy to deny themselves that thing’s consequences. My son’s father would be but one of many examples. And of course, there is the other man who had such an impact on my life, Mr. Hitler. After engulfing the world in the flames of his madness and killing millions of Jews, he had the coward’s audacity to fake his death and live the rest of his days in Argentina. After all he started, there wasn’t enough in him to be there at the end. He didn’t die in 1945 in the Führerbunker in Berlin. He died in 1963 on a property much like Constance. He couldn’t be asked to meet his end with a hair of dignity. None of them could. His false end was a way of covering himself and his cowardice. And men on both sides let him get away with it. The Americans as well as the Soviets knew Hitler had escaped to Argentina but when he was reported dead, it made things so much easier. It’s the same behavior of my father’s fat friends. They made themselves believe that they were helping France by collaborating with the Nazis, dining with the ones who killed their countrymen. It’s easy when you tell yourself it’s for the best. If you look at history, you see men and their leadership. You see Brutus killing Ceasar, you see Crassius being fed with molten gold to satiate his greed. You see Napoleon and his ego. But you also see Jean d’Arc, and you see Sheba and Elizabeth I. Don’t misunderstand me. I am not saying that all men are bad leaders. France had one of the most magnificent kings in modern times. But when you juxtapose women leaders with their male counterparts, you see one thing. The women are not the worst, like I have said.
In this game of games, you cannot plan to be the best. You cannot plan to outwit your rivals, always. But you must do it more often than not. I have an idea that I’ve had for some time. I have decided that Le Poq should not be the worst administrator in this business. That is less simple than it may sound. Maybe, with any luck, you can be the best. I have chosen you to follow me. Your reading this means my position is left vacant. That cannot last. I ask you to continue. It is my idea that Le Poq should continue as a woman. And my investigation tells me you have French blood through your mother. So, you shall inherit everything that was mine. Do not feel burdened by my estate. I don’t need it anymore, for reasons that are clear, but someone must make sure the weeds don’t grow too tall. My estate finances are handled by competent lawyers but do not trust them. My father trusted his lawyers and they ended up with his assets. If the finances have you at a loss, look in to them. I have named you my only heir in my testament and gave the reason that you are my natural daughter, whom I gave up. You have replaced my son, in that regard. If anyone asks, tell this tale. No one need ask you more than that. If they do, stop them.
Remember that Le Poq is not a political position. Do not be afraid of politicians. They cannot touch you. The Interior Minister appoints a Director to oversee La Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire. That is for the public. In fact, the DST runs itself. It is acceptable to the French government because it allows the DST to avoid infiltration. No one knows the individual who is at the top. You will not meet the Minister or the Political Director of the DST. You will communicate with them by representative as I have. Because of this, you must choose your representatives carefully. Choose a few, as I have. This may seem strange to you. As I have said, we are not the Americans. We do things differently. And the DST has never been infiltrated. Do not feel the wares of Le Poq are too much for you. I was selected by Le Poq to be his predecessor and you are selected to replace me. This is how it works. The person who does the job, selects the next person to do the job. The process is as apolitical as we can make it. Take comfort that you are not the first woman chosen. And don’t be the last. You hide your fear better than I did at your age. I don’t know if you were taught or if you taught yourself. I don’t know if you let your rationale come before your emotion or what it is you do. But you adapt. You keep your ego imprisoned and move. I wish I could tell you that is all you will need as Le Poq but there is more to it. But that is a tasteful start. As it is, you know so much already that it would be unwise if you didn’t accept. I have made all the arrangements for you to put on the robe. Cedric, Guillame and Mark will explain anything. Ask. They will respect what they know I’ve decided. And you have my respect. They will respect that.
The robe of Le Poq is worn in secret. You will go about your career as an American intelligence agent and serve as Le Poq. Your decisions will be carried out by proxy and in secret, tell Cedric, Guillame or Marc. They will see it done. If you need an agent, ask them for files on candidates. They will bring you several to choose from. You will have access to our DST files along with what the Americans allow you access to. Accepting resources from two agencies will give you a wealth of intelligence. Knowledge being power, you will make one of the most significant players in this game. Be careful with it. Careful is always better than being smart. Because I have declared you as my daughter, I have taken the liberty of providing you with a legitimate French passport. If you are discovered by the Americans or any organization, return to France immediately. The French government will not extradite one of its citizens. I would also ask you to respect the territorial sovereignty of France. Do not act against her. She has seen enough betrayal to last for ages. As for advice, I don’t like to give it. It’s a terrible business. If you rely too heavily on the advice of a dead woman you might end up like her. What I can say is the world is always changing. Remember that when you make your decisions. Try to operate from one step back. Keep your gaze wide to see the grand picture. Remember, if you don’t understand the grand picture the grand picture won’t include you. Anything else you may be wondering should be included with this envelope.
Bon Chance,
Simone
Georgia folded the letter back into the envelope, needing to distance herself from the implications of her final conversation with Simone. She held the envelope with two hands for over a minute. Even in death Simone held on to her subtleties. And her subtleties had serious implications, as always. The offer was in front of Georgia. There was no refusal. It wasn’t a matter of what Georgia wanted. Simone made that clear, even in her subtlety. She wrote you know so much already that it would be unwise if you didn’t accept. If Georgia thought it was wise to turn Simone’s offer down, she was told Careful is always better than being smart. Georgia looked down at the stack of books and papers. She opened the top leatherbound book. It had a handwritten label inside the front cover. Propriété de Élodie Serafin. Property of Élodie Serafin. She began to scan through the handwritten pages. It was a personal journal. The dates predated Georgia’s birth. Every page had handwritten French scribbled from top to bottom. Part of the journal looked waterlogged with coffee or tea. The French was complicated. It wasn’t textbook French. It was journal French. The author described several emotions and mixed emotions. The handwriting wasn’t messy but it wasn’t written to be read by anyone but the author. Georgia struggled to maintain the story as she went from one carelessly written line to the next. Georgia spent over an hour trying to decode the French text. There were several black-and-white photographs wedged between the pages. The same dark-skinned skinny girl was in the photographs, Élodie. There was one of Élodie and several Polynesian teens on a beach. One of the boys had his arm around Élodie’s shoulder. There was one of Élodie and her mother and their Polynesian housekeeper. The journal detailed the life of the author, a young woman, Élodie Serafin. She travelled with her mother to French Polynesia on the orders of her father, to escape occupied France. She had suicidal thoughts, feelings of an outsider. She became pregnant as a teenager and tried to kill her baby by starving herself and flooding her system with rum. She shoved various objects into herself, as an attempt to commit a crude abortion. She begged her mother to pay for a professional ho
spital abortion but her mother said it was dangerous for her still-developing body. She retaliated by trying to commit suicide by taking a lethal amount of aspirin. She wrote a lot about her father, wondering if she would see him again. As years went by, so did her hope.
As Georgia turned through the journal, she recognized the story. It was the same story told to her by Simone. She put the journal down and opened the large binder. The binder had several sheets of paper with photographs glued to it. It wasn’t a binder. It was a photo album. They were all black-and-white photographs. There were pictures of a handsome young couple holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. On the back was written, Élodie Serafin née 30 juillet 1930. Élodie Serafin born July 30th 1930. There were more pictures as Élodie grew up. Pictures with cousins, birthday parties, with her parents at the beach and with grandparents. Georgia flipped through the pages as interested as travelling through time. As Georgia reached the middle of the album, she started flipping through blank pages. The last photograph showed a large family gathering. Élodie was on the floor with the rest of the children. The adults stood. The elders sat. On the back of the photograph was written Hanoukka 1941. There rest of the album was empty.
It didn’t take an intelligence agent to recognize that Simone had told most of the truth. Everything she said about her past was documented in the life of Élodie Serafin. Which meant Simone had lied about one important thing. She had lied when she told Georgia, You’ll never know my real name. It was Élodie Serafin. And the name made Georgia feel better—feel proud. The name didn’t change the circumstance. But it satisfied the human desire to know everything about another human being. It made Georgia relax, feeling comfortable wearing Simone’s old robe. At least she knew who the robe belonged to. She grabbed the stack off books and binders from the table and took it with her, as she left the den and headed upstairs to her bedroom. She put the stack down on her bed and put Simone’s letter in her dresser drawer. She felt a renewed energy, and the heaviness that came with the robe. She also felt empty. It took her time to realize she was hungry. She wanted a moment to herself before she took charge of her houseguests. Gavril and Cedric were her responsibility. She had to eat and so did they. She thought about whether they should all eat together or separate. It was a simple thing to decide but it would set an early tone. She had to decide what to do with them. It was her house.
The word power came to mind. She thought about Simone and Arthur Witt. She even thought about Mark Miller and Owen Spice. It made her think about the nature of power and the people who had it. Georgia saw a common pattern. They owned it. They respected it as their own. The only thing that differed was the definition of what it meant to own it. Georgia walked to the dresser and looked at herself in the mirror. She opened the dresser drawer and took out Simone’s letter. She unfolded it and pushed everything on the dresser to the left. She put both palms on each edge of the dresser giving herself leverage, as she looked over the letter, only skimming. She didn’t have time for sentences, just phrases. The women are not the worst…one of the most significant players in this game. She continued staring at the letter for several minutes, before looking up at the mirror. She stared at herself just as long.
Table of Contents
Chapter One The Peers
Chapter Two Meant to Celebrate
Chapter Three Marked by Twilight
Chapter Four Gone for Good
Chapter Five Girl Talk
Chapter Six Any City
Chapter Seven Bothered
Chapter Eight Go to Work
Chapter Nine Always a Choice
Chapter Ten Intelligence
Chapter Eleven Home
Chapter Twelve Successful
Chapter Thirteen Eat and Talk
Chapter Fourteen A Guest
Chapter Fifteen Agent in Play
Chapter Sixteen Constance
