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Stories from the Verse
A Dozen Verses
Chapter 56: Kondor 274
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Slade 269
The two of them were racing along a road through the countryside north of London when a cell phone buzzed in Kondor’s pocket. He made a hand signal, and pulled off to the roadside with Zeke slowing to stop in front of him. Autos and lorries whizzed by, and Kondor flipped open his phone to read a simple text from C: Come by the office, soonest.
He pushed his hefty bike up alongside Zeke, and showed him the text.
“Good, I like the training, but I could use a mission.” He put his helmet back on, and turned to Kondor. “Race ya.” And spitting gravel, his high torque motorcycle shot away down the roadside and merged into traffic. Two seconds later, the chase was on. The duo whipped through traffic, and arrived in Central London where they took an alley to dodge a police car, and nineteen minutes after they started pulled into the car park with Zeke in the lead by a quarter of a bike length.
Laughing, the two of them rode up the elevator to the 28th floor. Cameron nodded and clicked the door open for them, and they walked into C’s office. He was on the phone, and he raised one finger to them to wait, and then pointed at the wingback chairs. They took them and waited, and listened as he tried to get Reptile House to help, but they were in Dubai. He sighed, thanked the caller, and hung up.
“We’re in a time crunch. I had an agent who was going to buy a vase at an auction in Tuolorca. It was used as an emergency drop for a flash drive by another agent. That first agent got in a car crash, so I need you both to head to France in twenty minutes or less.”
Neither of them knew what a flash drive was, but that was simply explained, along with the detail that it really could look like anything, but would probably be about as large as a big toe, although there was a proprietary name of “thumb drive”.
Fifteen minutes later, with a card with a hundred thousand euro limit on it in his pocket, Kondor and Zeke boarded a Lear jet. Cameron had explained en route to the airport that the euro was a new currency being adopted by a coalition of European countries to facilitate international commerce; it was currently mostly used in electronic transactions, and was roughly equivalent to a United States dollar--which, Kondor explained to Zeke, was worth a lot less in terms of buying power than Zeke would remember. Their motorcycles were being hurriedly loaded as well, and as he went to sit down a cute stewardess came up to both of them. She adjusted Zeke’s jacket a bit and retied Kondor’s tie. The Saville Row suits suited them both very well. Three minutes later the abbreviated check on the airplane was finished, and the Lear jet’s turbines started howling. Two minutes later they were in the air.
Approaching Tuolorca on the Mediterranean coastline of France, Kondor looked out the right window to see the lights of Napoleon’s Sceptre in the distant dark, and the glittering illumination of the City of Boats below. Landing at Roland de Roncevalles international airport, the two hopped out of their seats as the cargo ramp dropped open. Riding their motorbikes into the dark, the first impression Kondor had of Tuolorca on the ground was how normal it was as a big city other than the names. The Route des Perepherique led them to the Rue des Gouda which changed its name to Route de la Durandel. Zooming up a ramp, and passing a VW Bug, they shot out onto Napoleon’s Marchway. The multi-lane highway sent them toward Bergerac and Tuolorca Centre to the south took them along the bay road. To their left, dozens of yachts rode at anchor, some brightly lit and partying into the night. On their right, Napoleon’s Sceptre, taller than Washington’s Monument by a deliberate twenty feet or so, sparkled with a light display of the French national colors of blue, white, and red in vertical columns down its side mimicking the flag. Dodging a semi truck that unexpectedly changed lanes, the two rode on the side, until they came to an offramp to the right. On Boulevard Perepherique they ran into some slowed traffic due to highway construction, but they slipped in between cars and trucks and outpaced the speed limit and the surrounding traffic to come out with green trees on both sides of the roadway and the Sceptre to their left. They took three more roads toward the city center, and came to a stop on a small and narrow side street in front of the Vinier Galleria.
The briefing on the hour-long flight from London had said that the building had been owned by an old aristocratic French family until the Revolution shortened the family’s head by about a foot at the top. Now the magnificent Baroque manor was owned by the State, and rented to the Vinier Family who used it for an art gallery and auction house.
A half hour after landing the pair pulled up in front of the visually overwhelming palace, once home. Two forward multi-story blocks of the building on each side framed the central block which receded from the street. Mansard roofs in tile on all three with chimneys above them and pilasters on the lower part of the blocky four story tall frontage were crowned by a broken pediment in the center, with a number of figures of men and women engaged in some sort of struggle above the central doors, which were open and shedding warm light into the night air.
Passing through the front gate, after offering their invites to the suited guards they found a central parking area already crowded with cars. As they followed the guiding light held by a servant in crimson vest, black pants, and white shirt to their parking spot, a small black helicopter came in to land in the central pavement of the palacio. A man got off, and Kondor tapped into his telescopic-capable glasses given to him by Gear.
A hard-faced man got out, surrounded by three guards, and the leader of the quartet had a domineering aspect reinforced by several servants of higher grade than the one helping them park, rushing up to him to offer wine or other services. He brusquely pushed them away, and marched in. Thoughtfully, Kondor sent a message burst from his fake glasses.
Don’t use it much, Gear had said. It's hard to detect, but every use sends up a flare.
Seconds later a voice spoke in the earphone in his ear.
“Diego Abalos. First born son of Hector Abalos of the Abalos Drug Cartel. Reputed net worth of Diego is 1.1 billion pounds sterling. Needless to say, but he’s a very dangerous, very bad man.”
In a low murmur as the two advanced toward the central part of the house walking across the central area with three story housing walls on the right and left, Kondor filled Zeke in.
“So drug-running, coyote smuggling of jihadi and illegal aliens, kidnapping, assassination of federal judges, and turf wars with automatic weapons with other cartels,” Zeke replied, and added, “I’m reading up on the history and present of this world. The differences between it and mine are interesting. So much similar, so much not.”
The mansard-roofed central block of the long rectangular square approached, and the two had to wait in line behind several couples as guards examined invites more closely, and electronically wanded everyone.
A gray-haired man with a giggling girl who was at least four decades younger than him was let through after a quick search with the words, “Ambassador, you and your guest are welcome to the auction.”
Then it was Kondor’s and Zeke’s turn as four hard-eyed men tried to pretend to be polite as they searched them with skeptical eyes. Kondor was pleased when the wand went right past his Meritronic Cybereye without a single beep. The technology of the Mary Piper was not detected by Vinier Galleria’s tech. Also, Gear’s less advanced tech passed muster as well.
“Welcome Shaka Mambasa, Paul Porthos. As newcomers, here’s a map of the allowed areas, and a list of the items auctioned. I hope you both find merchandise worth your time.”
Kondor, as Shaka Mambasa, and Zeke, as Paul Porthos, both nodded, and made an effort to stroll in calmly as if they were not at all up to ill deeds and mischief, gawking a bit at the splendid chandelier and the painted ceiling on the arched roof three stories above them. Gold painted statues of winged figures decorated the walls every thirty feet or so with their base at head height. Kondor was not sure if they were cupids, or cherubs, or angels. Might even be pixies, he thought, as he remembered Derek. Between the statues were paintings of laboring farm peasants, and he just stood there soaking in the beauty of it all until a slight grunt was heard behind him.
He turned and saw an elderly lady and man clutching each other’s arms who had been held up by his examination.
“I’m sorry--”
“It's not a problem, dear. We’re glad to see some of the younger generation with an appreciation for true beauty. It's just my husband needs to get off his feet.”
Kondor apologized again, and stepped out of the way so he could begin to more fully examine the art on the walls. Zeke wandered away, and although most of the people in the front area were moving on to more interior rooms, Kondor had yet to fully examine this one. A slight whistle next to him had him turn to look down to his left at a gracious dark-skinned beauty in a glittering red dress with a deep cleavage and a high thigh cut.
“Are you knowledgeable about this?” she asked. “You must be, as I’ve been standing here two minutes.”
“I’m not an expert. But I’ve begun reading about art, and I find myself drawn to it more and more.”
“Oh, well, then allow me. This is from the late eighteenth century. It’s what we might call pre-Realist. They idealized beauty. It's also Baroque which means really loud and complex and highly detailed.”
“You seem to disapprove.”
“Well, the Realist Nonconformists would say it was glossing over harsh reality.”
Kondor thought a bit.
“I think reality is harsh enough that we don’t need to advertise its pains. Besides, this too is reality. Joy and peace and beauty are real.”
“Really?”
“I can say Beauty is real,” he said, looking directly at her.
Playfully, she put her hands flat on her cheekbones, showing off her bright red fingernails.
“A learned gentleman has complimented me. I think I shall blush.”
She took a half step away, flirting, Kondor thought, and he found himself doing something he had almost never done.
“What’s your name?”
She squinted at him.
“Amanda Herrington. And you, sir?”
“Joseph Kondor,” he said, and then suddenly gulped. That was not the name he had given the guards. She leaned forward. “Not the name you gave the guards? That’s okay. My last name’s not Herrington either.”
The two stared at each other, both aware they had revealed more than they had intended. At this moment, a blushing Zeke came up to them.
“Hello,” he said to the girl. “Shaka, we need to get to the auction hall. It's starting soon.” Kondor nodded goodbye, and noted that Zeke had used his right-for-the-night name, which was more trouble, and had led to Amanda Not Herrington laughing into her hand. As the two went away, a trio of Swedish blondes, he thought, waved at Zeke with big smiles, and Kondor looked over at his friend who was blushing even more.
“They were just being friendly. I mean, probably have boyfriends already.”
Kondor shook his head as they walked into another chandeliered room through a vast archway. He had long noted that Zeke seemed to believe that a girl hitting on him was somehow under a delusion that reality would soon cure. To his eye, those three girls had looked quite happy to make Zeke’s acquaintance, and would probably have not minded him taking them out on a date to see how things went.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
