The Click

Janine Rousseau hurried into her office talking on her scud making sure she

doubled locked the outer office door. “Yes, yes. Thank you for the confidence, sir. I’m on it now.” She rushed over to her Blue Cube and punched the power-up button. Seconds later its holographic surveillance screen appeared larger than life with NO DATA across its face. She quickly typed in some key coordinates and the name given to her by Rosewall. NO DATA changed to INCOMING DATA, the HS-Screen went greenish-blue then all of a sudden the Ecclesian Basilica in Rome appeared. She zoomed in, hit the target button, hit listening mode, and turned the volume up.

High Minister McGivney in his black Cassock and skull cap, his image intermittently glowing within the greenish-blue haze, paced in front of the Basilica talking to someone on his scud. Rousseau knew him by reputation. A onetime vicious prosecutor in Rome with alleged ties to the Italian mafia before being drafted by Supreme Minister Pius early in the smotec’s term, he was thought to be a closet Opus Dei by some. Others even believed he was a Tarsusian, a more extreme wing of Opus Dei made up of the followers of St. Paul who was born Saul of Tarsus. In any case, she had to keep tabs on him for her own good if not because Rosewall insisted, and therefore watched with interest, and listened after adjusting the sophisticated sound filter that took her some time to master.

“I don’t give a damn how remote it is. If the Smotecal Decretum surfaced you must find it or else the church will have hell to pay,” he said sharply to someone on the other end. … Of course it’s bogus but since when does that matter. I need you to stay on this.” Rosewall wanted to know who McGivney was talking to.

Just then, a priest approached from behind him. “Minister McGivney.” McGivney whirled around. “What?”

“Excuse me sir, but His Sacredness, the smotec, wishes to see you right away.” “We’ll talk later, and I expect results,” McGivney said into his scud and clicked

off.

“Damn it,” Rousseau yelled to no one in particular and powered down the Blue Cube. “Who in the hell was he talking to?”

“Who wez who talken to?” Oedipus asked as he walked into her office.

“None of your fucking business … at least not yet,” she said still steaming.

However, I do want to show you what I taped earlier, and that will be your business.” She powered up the Blue Cube once again and typed in some instructions. The

next thing Oedipus knew he was watching Oliver Hitchcock through the same greenish-blue haze leaving the airport in Mumbai with another man, an Indian. Hitchcock glowed intermittently. They were then seen going into and out of a hospital. Rousseau paused the holographic content and laughed.

“Had it not been for Rosewall and my dead bartender friend Rudy, I would never have keyed in on my even better friend, Oliver Hitchcock,” she said looking at Oedipus and laughing once again. Imagine him involved in this mess I have been asked to clean up. If this isn’t a juicy coincidence I don’t know what is?”

“Ya, and your dead friend wouldn’t be so dead if he wadn’t so greedy.” Oedipus laughed.

“Now this is what I really want you to see.” She un-paused the holographic content and they both watched Hitchcock go into and out of the Mumbai City Library. Again his image intermittently glowed. He was then followed into and out of a taxi where he stood in front of what looked like a school, the Jewish School of Learning Rousseau learned later. From the air it could be seen covering many acres circumscribed by a brick wall and a rather large rod iron front gate. Within its grounds stood a number of buildings of various sizes and shapes.

“Now comes the best part,” Rousseau announced.

The HS-Screen went fairly dark since what had been recorded had taken place at night but the images were clear thanks to long range infrared technology that projected

from the protolytes above. Hitchcock continued to glow intermittently, this time in shades of grays, as he stood at the front gate of the Jewish School of Learning with his Indian friend. The two could be seen jumping the wall. They managed to get into the buildings. What they found, Rousseau’s magic Blue Cube could not tell since the Cūtocratic Protolytes it relied on could not pierce through opaque objects, unfortunately Rousseau thought. Nevertheless she would find out.

“Wat es the CIA doin in Mumbai?”

“Clearly Hitchcock is not on CIA business or they would have scrambled our signal. This is personal.”

“Why botter wit heem. He’s a Beater trying to save heez kid, dats all. Ezn’t dat wat we learned from da dead bartender?”

“Oedipus, this isn’t just any Beater. He’s up to something.” “Like wat?”

“Not your problem. Orders are to scare the hell out of him.” “Dat’s all?”

“Dat’s all … I mean that’s all, for now,” Rousseau sneered at Oedipus. “You better watch your Belgian butt. The man’s a living legend. Mess up and he’ll cut your throat. … You leave for Mumbai tonight.”

The following morning Rousseau sat at her desk eating a combination of bananas slices and blackberries while talking with Oedipus on her scud. She had him on holographic mode which meant his face and all of its warts were close enough to touch.

“Where are you now?”

“Sittin een my ATV een front of heez friend’s ouse. Once ee leaves, I will follow eem and as you say scare dee ell out of eem.”

“All right. You don’t have to call back when he comes out. I’ll have both of you on my little Blue Cube.” She clicked off and Oedipus’s holographic image vanished. After leaving her bananas and berries, she moved to where the Blue Cube was hidden, pulled it out from under a stack of files, powered it up, and typed in the necessary instructions. Less than a minute later Oedipus appeared on the HS-Screen sitting in his

opened all-terrain vehicle, his image glowing intermittently. Hitch’s friend’s house was also in view.

Rousseau beamed. She could not get over her toy. It was so much more powerful than even the best scud. At the same time she knew having it was utterly illegal and if discovered could get her thrown in jail. The General assured her that would not happen. Nevertheless, she kept it under a blanket of files when she was not there and she kept the outer office door locked even when she was there. The only other person with the combination to that door was Oedipus and he could be trusted with her life. That was because he owed his to her. When she was CIA, spying in her native Paris for the Americans, God that was years ago, she was the field officer in a major sting operation that involved Oedipus as a minor player. Something about him played well within her gut and she cut him loose. Otherwise, he would still be in someone’s dungeon deep underground, if not already dead.

She had engrossed herself in another project when a short squeal came from the Blue Cube. Oliver Hitchcock had just stepped out of his friend’s home. She quickly tapped in some additional instructions calling for a split screen and the HS-Screen showed Oedipus on one side and Hitchcock, now intermittently glowing, on the other side. She sat back in her chair and smiled. “Okay my Love; this little venture should let you know we are keeping tabs on you.”

Hitchcock drove along the streets of Mumbai with Oedipus close behind, although it didn’t appear to Rousseau that Hitch knew he was being followed. Just as she was thinking that, his convertible rose higher above the pavement and accelerated. Even she could hear the whine of his electrotomic isothermal engine responsible for both the air cushion below and the propulsion pushing him forward. He made a quick right turn and then a left into an alley. Rousseau could only imagine Oedipus’s grin as he kept up. She didn’t know a driver as good as him.

Once Hitchcock exited the alley he made for the highway and the two raced neck and neck as the ATV, also whining as it chewed up hydrogenated acetylene fuel, careened into the convertible’s side several times. Hitch slammed on his breaks by

reversing engine thrust allowing Oedipus to take the lead then rammed into his back end. They seemed to be playing with one another. This time Oedipus slammed on his breaks, again by reverse thrusting, and maneuvered behind Hitchcock. Again the convertible accelerated, dipped slightly, and veered off at the next exit that merged onto a narrow road paralleling a mildly steep ravine on his right. The ATV stayed close behind and within seconds easily caught up crashing its heavily reinforced front end into the convertible with sufficient force to cause its blanket of air to quake under the chassis and its tires to slam to the ground. For a moment Rousseau thought Hitchcock was going to vault into the ravine. “God damn it, Oedipus, we need him alive!” she yelled at the HS - Screen.

Just then the convertible’s cushion of air regained its footing and moved Hitchcock into the left lane where he could be seen reverse thrusting allowing Oedipus to catch up. Now neck and neck, each swerved into the other, BAM, BAM. Hitchcock sped up and moved into his right lane where he slowed down once again. This allowed Oedipus to move to his left and over take the convertible. Just as he turned into Hitch’s front end, the convertible’s engine’s reverse thrust slowed him down as he turned hard to the left catching the ATM’s unprotected backside, BANG, causing Oedipus to lose control and spin into the ravine below. Hitchcock dropped to the ground and slammed on his thrusters in order to stop at the top of the ravine as a ball of fire shot up into Janine Rousseau’s office. She sprang from her desk and practically fell into the greenish-blue haze being engulfed by the flames in shock that she was witnessing the demise of her lieutenant. She could feel the tick pulsating in her eye and her lower lip quiver.

She watched Hitchcock race from his car down the ravine searching to his left and right. The ATM was smoldering but fortunately Oedipus was not in it. Seconds later he could be seen glowing, intermittently, within the bushes a hundred feet down. Hopefully he was still breathing. She quickly turned the volume up on the control center and to her relief heard her stooge groan. Apparently Hitchcock heard it also causing him to rush further down the ravine toward him. By then the Belgian seemed at best semiconscious. Hitchcock pulled out Oedipus’s scud and his wallet, then tapped on the scud. Even

Rousseau could see VAMA flash onto the scud screen. “Jesus!” And it only got worse. She watched Hitchcock undress Oedipus until he was stark naked. She then watched him tap once again on Oedipus’s scud. All of a sudden she heard a RING, causing her to flinch. Resolved not to show weakness, she picked up her scud from the desk and took the call. He switched the scud into view mode and placed Oedipus’s naked body within its crosshairs.

“Hey, Janine. Next time, don’t send a boy to do a man’s job.” He disconnected and headed up the hill towards his convertible with Oedipus’s clothes in one hand.

Rousseau swiped her bowl of half eaten bananas and berries onto the floor, CRASH, and shut down her toy. SWISH, the HS-Screen vanished. The tick in her eye continued … ticking.