The Click

Janine Rousseau stretched her calves and her spine in an attempt to relax as she

stood next to General Rosewall in Rome. They were waiting for Minister McGivney who would be travelling the tunnel from Ecclesia to the Cūtocratic headquarters, or so she was told by the general. Rousseau was aware of the tunnel but had never been in it or the room she was now standing in, and she was nervous. McGivney’s reputation was not one of piety or good cheer. He would just as soon slit your wrist as shake your hand if he thought you showed any sign of resistance to his agenda.

The Minister was tardy but finally arrived and now stood comfortably in the quarters devoted solely to the needs of the Ecclesia. He wore a black robe trimmed in hot pink and a thick hot pink belt-scarf wrapped twice around his waist. His tallness towered over the general. His face seemed to exude an ogre type charm, a deadly charm, Rousseau thought. At the same time the pox marks under both eyes and rounding out his cheeks on opposite sides of a larger than usual puffed up nose looked like a throwback to an earlier plague.

General Rosewall stepped forward to greet him and then introduced Rousseau. “Ah! Ms. Rousseau. You are a beautiful woman, not the bull dog Rosewall speaks

so highly of.”

Rosewall cringed slightly and Rousseau laughed. “Cannot a bull dog be beautiful also, Your Eminence,” she suggested as the Minister took her hand and kissed it.

“You are quite right my dear but keep in mind we need your bite to be more brutal than your bark. There is important work to do, as I informed your General earlier in the day.” With that tit for tat behind them, Minister McGivney, seemingly satisfied, turned back to General Rosewall and gave him a stern look. Without saying it, he was conveying his displeasure with Rosewall’s choice. Not that she was a woman, although there was that, thought Rousseau who seemed to read his mind but mostly because he saw vulnerability in her eyes, a weakness she knew showed when nerves got the better of her,

a weakness that would bubble to the surface at the most inappropriate times. Meanwhile, a figure stepped into the room quietly and stood in the shadows. Only Rousseau seemed to notice him or her enter.

“We’re doing what we can, Your Eminence,” Rosewall countered, clearly trying to ignore the Minister’s flirtatious ways with Rousseau and his stern look.

“Not enough! I tell you this Dr. Wu is a problem, more so than that pesky CIA agent or ex-agent, or whatever the hell he is.”

“We can take care of her,” Rosewall insisted, then turned to Rousseau who puffed out her chest.

“For sure. After all, she’s vacationing in one of my luxury suites.”

“And if the Supreme Minister’s not worried about the Smotecal Decretum, we should eliminate all of them, the Chink in the dungeon, Oliver Hitchcock, and this Professor Bloom. Cut the legs off the so-called Cause,” the General continued.

A burst of laughter rose from the shadows. A man stepped into the light, causing McGivney to snap at him. “You’re late.”

“Who might you be?” General Rosewall asked, clearly agitated by the intruder’s presence and the surprise.

“I’m sorry, my dear General. Let me introduce my secret weapon. Julian Iscar please shake hands with General Rosewall, chief Mountie for the Cūtocracy … and I believe you know his bull dog, Ms. Rousseau.”

Rousseau glared and Julian winked back after shaking hands with the General. “Your Eminence, if it pleases, may I have a quick word with you in private?”

Julian asked.

The Minister stepped into a far corner waving for Julian to follow. Rousseau eyed the two whispering for several minutes before they returned to the center of the room.

“General, I’ve had second thoughts. For now, I do not want you to eliminate anyone. If there’s anything to the old black Jew, who no doubt you are aware of, and an unvaccinated village in India, we must find out exactly what it is.” The Minister was giving an order, not making a request. He then turned to Julian and purposely ignored

Rousseau. “The General and I have other business to discuss. If you don’t mind we can carry on a bit later, possibly at dinner this evening.”

Julian nodded then took his leave, prompting Rousseau to catch up. She was pissed but hid her anger well, as she raced past him, then sauntered into the hall with Julian shuffling behind her.

“The Church can handle this,” Julian said.

“No! VAMA will take charge.” Rousseau turned back to Julian hoping her confidence was enough to put him down.

Instead, he snickered. “You had your chance with Hitchcock and blew it, you and that Belgian buffoon of yours.”

Rousseau marched into Julian’s face. “Don’t fuck with me, Julian, or I’ll let Hitchcock know who you really work for.”

Without looking for a reaction to her threat, she pivoted away and once again sauntered through the lobby and onto the street like the sexy siren she was, drawing second looks from the Italian men as they passed by and relishing every ogling glance.

Rousseau exited Regis International Airport the following morning just as Oedipus pulled up to the curb in their VAMA hearse. She started to get in the back but instead rode up front. After buckling in, she sighed.

Oedipus looked over. “Not happy?”

“Rome is a bitch. Let’s go.”

“Maybe dis will cheer you up,” her driver said as he handed her a satchel. “Your share of da laundry.”

She unzipped the satchel and peeked inside. Wads of paper cash. She grinned as Oedipus peeled away over the whine of his electroatomic isothermal engine and rose to a cruising level inches above the ground.

He dropped Rousseau off at her house. Once inside she immediately proceeded to the wall safe and hid away the cash. After closing the safe, she just stood there staring at the photo of her and the little girl in front of the Eifel Tower. She kissed her fingertips,

then touch the girl’s lips. At the same time she spoke softly in French, “For you, my darling daughter.”