Gina

From PenguinWiki

Below is the Gina, Mark, Carlo, Sean, Helena, Sarah, subplot in order of continuity: (as far as I can make out): (ps there are more references which seem to generally fit into this sub-plot, see further below for some of the more tangential references:

here are the core subplot points:

Contents 1 Genesis 2 The Cardboard Boxer 3 Distraction 4 The Road To Bailly Romainvilliers 5 Traffic, many ways 6 Not an ordinary morning, bad karma 7 The Oasis Prison 8 Dread 9 Sahrah's Place 10 Presence 11 Feast 12 Epilogue - 13 Genesis 14 Pizza Shop 15 The Cardboard Boxer 16 The Road To Bailly Romainvilliers 17 The Oasis Prison 18 Dread 19 Sahrah's Place 20 Presence 21 Murderers and Millionaires 22 Feast 23 Epilogue -

[edit] Genesis

Gina hadn't heard from Mark in a long time. She was growing tired of always playing second fiddle to his love of fish. She sometimes had nightmares of finding him in the arms of some giant mermaid, their embrace lit by the moon and some odd twin passions she could not ever hope to grasp.

She began to wonder whether he was worth it - his pursuit of the so-called fishing trip seemed to be turning into a holy quest for him. All she ever heard from him was his ideas on catching it - what wait he would endure, what new thoughts he would employ, what the fish was doing, where his mind was flowing. She sighed before hauling herself over to the pantry, where she contemplated their miserable selection of food with no small measure of depression: tins of fish, fish, and more fish. Just like this relationship: a type of pungeant dread permeating the surroundings with a whiff of socks.

Nothing is worth this, she thought bitterly. Her stomach was rumbling and the apartment stank. She still couldn't figure out what Rollerson meant by the "Genesis project" but her hunger was making it impossible for her to think about that now. Cooking smells would do nothing to help, even if there had been more to cook than the fish.

She decided to order her favorite pizza, with extra anchovies and Larry the Roach on top. Gina had Carlo to thank for sharing that addiction. God. AFter that, she would go for a walk to clear her head and try and work out where this "Genesis" thing came in. She paused, phone in hand. For the first time she began to consider the anchovie thing. They were fish too! And, as with Carlo, perhaps they could help open a dialogue with Mark. Maybe lead to the same sort of obsession she had enjoyed with Carlo. Fishing, pizzas, the whole world outside their bedroom had ceased to exist for who knew how any days at a time. The slightly salty flavor on their tongues from much mutual probing of sweaty skin folds was echoed satisfyingly by the little anchovies on the delivered pizza Carlo had finally been forced to order as their energy waned.

Gina wanted the feeling of that time back. Nowhere to be, no-one waiting, nothing to do except revel in the joy of the now. Could it be with Mark?

Little James lifted his quill from his manuscript. It wasn't only his character's stomach that was beginning to grumble, he realized. He remembered that George was supposed to meet him for lunch - or was that supposed to happen later? He couldn't keep track of things ever since he had shuffled chapters and re-ordered them in a vain attempt to provide an overarching theme to the work.

He fumbled for his cell phone and hit the quick dial.

"Jim, my friend, where are you?"

"Georgy, I used to think that as a writer I could do ANYTHING. Since it is possible to write anything one wants, the author is technically like a god, exercising absolute control over his or her characters and the events."

George sighed, "You speak in the past tense, Jimmy, why wouldn't you think that now?"

"Because it is not true."

"But you CAN write anything you want!"

"But even a 'god' is constrained by circumstance," James said with surprising passion, "I COULD write anything I want, but it won't ring true. The more three dimensional I make the character, the more I (or worse) the reader is likely to say, 'but Chad wouldn't DO that'. People can tell when the author is fucking with the character or the plot, they just know, it doesn't work. So I, as author, am so much less than a god."

"Yeah, yeah. So tell me this, Jim, are we doing this lunch thing or what?"

[edit] The Cardboard Boxer

Just getting their overalls off, the dawn sun lighting the top of the Rockies, the two handsome young American factory workers, looking as though they had walked straight off a Socialist realist propaganda poster, entered a small coffee shop in Boulder, Colorado. A diminutive waitress approached. She gave them a table near the window and then took their orders. "I would like two coffees, black no sugar," said one, looking up at her sullen little face. "And perhaps I'll take a waffle with blueberry syrup too."

They had finished their coffee by the time the waffles arrived, the taste of them turning bitter and acrid on their tongues. "Funny that, I really am in no mood to eat Tuna", said one.

"Strange, that," the other worker responded," I realized myself that I am in no mood for tuna, but even stranger is that this thought occurred to us at all, since it is breakfast and we have ordered waffles with blueberry syrup".

"It is a dissociative mnemonic device, another trick of the capitalist superstructure." The one worker suggested.

"A fool's gambit, if so. There is no money to be made on an aversion to tuna. We are suffering from a simple mass delusion." The other worker looked outside at the dirty mounds of snow. "Perhaps it is the heat."

"Wait, maybe there is money to be made. What is the opposite of tuna? Some sort of citrus fruit, perhaps a berry?" The one worker glanced at his waffles and the potential goldmines they were smothered in.

The other worker scoffed. "Fish do not have opposites. You cannot place negative signs in drift nets and harvest oranges. These are complex devices that cannot be reduced to ideology or math."

"You speak as if math is not an ideology, borne of the tyranny of subtractive logic." The one worker glanced at his waffle, a grid of nine squares by nine, cut circular. "Subtractive logic is the heart of capitalism."

"You and your capitalism. That Chad Thompson has really messed up your brain and your heart." They were quiet for a while, and felt how someone they met months ago still made his way between them.

Meanwhile 9 timezones away, the setting sun shone in through the panorama windows of the second floor of Neo. Mikhael sat in the corner gazing out at the view.From side to side of Riga decorated houses in Modern Style had left the place to futuristic buildings.The sky was clear over the harbour and the cold was beginning to make itself felt. The bare wines slept on the near hills, with a little snow here and there. The town spread quiet on the right bank of its river, the spans of the New Bridge stood out against the horizon. The Daugava, the old town, and the railway station were laid out beneath him. This was his empire.

Mikhael gave the bartender a slight nod of his head and reached for the phone. Though well known for being ruthless he was also a little slow, the excesses of both his dining that day and the vodka only hindering him further. He took the phone in his hand, then paused. Something was wrong - no one dared call him when he did not expect it, not at this time. He paused... it was... Sahra Wagenknecht... That meant trouble was on its way. Didn't they decide not to call each other? Not until the Big Problem was solved?

He sputtered... "What the hell are you...", "What?" "Yes there is a man in a red shirt here... but look...." "Aha..." His voice dropped, he fell deadly silent, his eyes took on the smooth sheen of a predator. "Ten minutes, ok...". Mikhael checked his wallet. He didn't realize that his cell phone had a digital clock on it so he always used his calendar. He took out his finepoint and circled the date. Ten minutes! He'd be ready! A wry grin came across his face as he threw a 10 Lat note down on the table.

Carlos returned from the bathroom, "Never mind, in two minutes it will make no difference... I guess that means you got the call too, lets do it!" "Two minutes" said Mikhael coldly and calmly looking at his watch.

Carlo nodded. He knew what had to be done, but he couldn't help wondering if there was a better way.

He bent down and set the timer on the detonator for one minute -just time enough to get down the escalator out of the door and and to jump out of the way of the falling debris. The explosive charge hidden inside his briefcase was just enough to do the job.

At that moment, back in corner of South America, in Buenos Aires, a tractor-trailer truck pulled away from a loading dock in the lamp-lit gloom, its haggard driver chewing on the cap of a pen he had just used to sign the shipping manifests. He was doomed. The truck keys must have been in his pocket.

[edit] Distraction

Its never a good idea to answer a phone while driving, thought Gina while driving, and that had nothing to do with safety… I should have been in bed by now…

--- She was on her way home, mind wandering back and fro Mark and large pizza she was about to pick up at Big James, when she realized her cell was ringing . Of course it was in her handbag, zipped up, just out of reach on the seat. Aw damn phone… what a hell!! One eye on the road, she reached right, feeling for a handle.

“YES! What?

“A bit on the edge baby, aren’t we... know who’s calling?

She couldn’t believe the voice she was hearing…. Actually, she was trying to convince herself that it took some time to recognize it, but really she got it the first second.

“What on earth are… where are you?

“Like it or not, I’m actually back in the city… listen Gina, there’s something I think you need to know. I’m in a pub at (fill in the intersection), you know, the Bryden’s, can you come? I mean, if it’s okay with the geek?

“Why do you think I would want to hear anything you have to say? You remember what happened last time we met, right? Or that memory, among many others, has been washed away with pints of lager and shots of scotch?

“No more of that stuff baby… doctors order… stupid ulcer..

“Ok just say what you have to say and leave me be.

“Well I could easily do that over the phone dear, but than ill waste the only chance I have to see that lovely face of yours again…

“Forget it, I’m not…

“Genesis.

The pause was genuine.

“Now how do you… ok I’m coming, wait there.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger! What the hell was I thinking …I knew it couldn’t be good… Gina was getting into her usual mantra…Inevitable flashbacks to Copenhagen started to roll in…yelling duel in front of the bar, both drunk, … and Mark, later… One more reason why I would be much better of without ever being there, she thought…

As always when hungry, she felt dizzy, and her vision blurred. She turned sharp left, cutting a blue van coming the opposite direction, and rushed to Big James.

Its almost on the way to Bryden’s, she thought… And there is no traffic, anyways...

--- Why had he to be in the pub where’s never a place to park anywhere near…must be those stupid chicken wings, he used to stuff his face with that junk, thought Gina while walking down the street to the pub, heels of her boots echoing… the sound of those were always calming her down, making herself feel more powerful. Two slices of the large pizza were almost gone by then…

Now why am I wolfing down this pizza like there’s no tomorrow, she said to herself, couldn’t be that nervous? God I’m dying for a pint, those anchovies are killing me…

Her head overwhelmed deliberately with ridiculous, unimportant details, she was pushing away the thought that was occupying her mind ever since she heard that word… Genesis… how the hell he knows about Genesis…. And why now, when it’s almost…

But soon, it will all be over, Gina thought…I’ll be back home, finally…

Yes, she’ll be alone in her bed again, putting herself to sleep, slowly, by plotting up the versions of her life with mark, each less possible then the other…

But that, too, was a delusion, as she will learn soon after leaving the pub.

[edit] The Road To Bailly Romainvilliers

Gina was a nightbird, though she'd never admit it. She hated getting up in the morning, because it meant going back to the grind. Every morning, she'd go through the same routine of drinking coffee, brushing her teeth (one of her real prides, her teeth), putting on the clothes she knew would attract maximum attention in the street and on the metro, not to mention at the office, arranging her hair just so, then putting on her knee-high boots before stomping out of her appartment in Issy.

Every morning, she'd get the same whistles and enamored cries from the youth in the street. A pack of would-be pushers, age somewhere between eight and twelve, boys and girls alike, they would invariably follow her with a air of envy. She did not seem to care that Sylvain, her boyfriend might get insanely jealous, he always seemed to be preoccupied with his next planned fishing trip. The boys would pretend not to notice the way her hips swayed, or the way her tits pushed through the fabric of her grey sweater. Gina would sometimes gratify them with a nod, even a smile, but would never engage conversation, because she knew where that would lead her. The thing Gina valued more than her perfect body was privacy.

This morning, she left earlier than usually. There were things to be settled. She took the RER. Crossing alleyways wasn't Gina favorite game, but this morning, it was different. Her boss, old Pierre Dewinckel of Dewinckel et fils, good old Pierre had asked to come in early so as to prepare a witness for a deposition. Gina had a knack with nervous people. She always knew how to put them at ease, and Pierre, his hots for her notwithstanding, was keen on such things. He'd even hinted at a promotion in the near future, something Gina would welcome, though she suspected it entailed more than just treating witnesses right. On many occasions, when she was in Pierre's office, notepad and pen at the ready, she had noticed the woody in her boss's pants, and she knew it probably had a lot to do with her own attire, and the way she carried herself.

No doubt Pierre would hit the promotion subject again in the near future, among other things. Though he was nearing 60, he was still reasonably attractive, and Gina hadn't got laid in weeks--something she wouldn't admit in the presence of others, not even her best friend, Pamela--, though she let people think what they wanted to think.

The alleyway was darker than she thought, and Gina was careful not to step in puddles of unidentified liquids of various colors and consistance. The boots were made for walking alright, as the song went, but they were also brand new, and had cost her an arm and a leg. Their metal-covered heels htting the ground in cadence, Gina pushed her way past Dumpsters and scattered refusal. She heard a noise behind her, like a dog foraging in a trash can, and thought, Great, some stray doggie with his snout covered in shit or something; all he had to do was to greet her the way dogs always did, tongue out, a canine smile painted on the face, panting, begging for a stroke and a kind word. "Just what I need", Gina thought.

The first hit took her down to her knees.

The man hit her a second time, on the head, and she thought she was going to puke her croissant, right here and there. She managed to get on all fours and tried to right herself, but a strong hand pushed her back down. Then she heard a man--she thought it was a man--whisper in her ear:

"Vous êtes tranquil, et tout va bien!"

There was an almond scent coming with his breath.

"Must be sick, Weisenheimers disease", she remembered in a second.

"What do you want?" she managed without looking back. She was truly scared, now, and for once, she regretted not acknowledging the youths attention, a few minutes back.

"Vous savez que je veux. Soyez silent et vous et moi, on va avoir un petite fête, chérie!"

Gina shivered. The man sounded French, but hey, this was Paris, France after all. No surprise there.

"You can't do that to a sister," she ventured.

The man then started to pull her jeans down, and Gina knew that if she didn't do something, anything, right now, she was dead. The man wouldn't let her go, not alive. Plus he seemed to know where she worked, and that was even scarier. She could feel something warm and hard pressing against her buttocks, but before she could do anything, she was flat on her belly again, her face inches from a dog turd. She started whimpering, but the man shushed her with a shove.

"Soyez ouvert!"

Gina nodded yes, and started to prepare for what she knew had been coming her way all along. The man kept on groping her, pulling down her underwear.

"Oui," she heard him say, almost reverently.

A sudden crack, a sharp intake of air, then she felt like a ton of brick had just fallen upon her back. She was pinned to the ground, no matter how hard she tried to move. The man was on top of her, but he didn't move, and she could feel his erection quickly fading. A liquid started oozing on the side of her face. It was warm, and smell of copper. It was red, too. Bright red.

She screamed. "Wrong move," another man's voice said behind her. Gina fainted.

Mr Dimitry, pushed the assailant off Gina and checked her breathing.

He had been successful - This is the third girl he had 'saved today.

Dimitry had saved them from the dangers of the city, (it never took long to find something bad going on in this town) but now their lives would be at the disposal of the "command" and its purposes.

[edit] Traffic, many ways

Red lights, green lights. Driving down the empty streets, Carlos and Tony were debating the merit of having the lights working all night. “Not true”, said Carlos, “that’s because people here don’t know how to drive. You take some poor bastard from god knows where, who’s never seen a car before, and you expect him…” “Whoa, hold it right there!” Tony interrupted, “that’s exactly why I’m thinking that they are more careful, they are adjusting to a new situation…” “Well, sometimes they are too careful. They don’t know what to do.” “Agree, but on the flip side, you have…” At that point a silverfish sedan, coming towards them, turned sharp left just in front of their van, forcing Carlos, who was driving, to step on the brake. “Fucking… now that’s what I’m telling you here. They just don’t…” “Wait, Carlos… well I’ll be… turn left! Hurry!” Carlos jerked the steering wheel left, without checking any of the mirrors, naturally. “Why, you want to chase the guy now? You saw my point all of the sudden?” “No, moron, that was Gina’s car. We haven’t been able to isolate her anywhere, last what, month and the half, and here she is, perfect. Let’s do it before its too late again.”

Carlos accelerated, backing himself further into his seat. “We’ll get her at the park.” His eyes gave a feverish spark.

“Look, she’s stopping… hell its big jim’s place… wait here, let’s see, maybe she’ll be out soon…”

After few minutes, they saw Gina getting back into her car, turning right and leaving in the hurry.

“That’s not the way to her home”, Tony said. “What the hell is going on? Let’s follow her, maybe she’s meeting someone…”

Ten blocks later, they learned that Tony was right. No argument there, Tony was usually right. But, who she was meeting with blew their mind. “She’s got it. And now she knows it.” Carlos said. “But now WE don’t know is it at her place, or with her.”, Tony elaborated further. “We’ll wait till the morning, she’ll be going to see George first thing. Before that happens, we need to get it, witnesses or no.”

-- Leaving the Bryden’s, pale as a ghost, the first thing Gina had in her mind was how to get home as soon as possible. Then, about what she had just heard about Genesis.. “How did I buy that story after all”, she cursed herself… “All that security, double-checking, for a stupid marketing spin on a new book?” Now that she knew what the real purpose for the code she had, she was trembling in the anticipation of the moment in the morning when she will have to face George, end tell him she’s out.

--

[edit] Not an ordinary morning, bad karma

Sharp, recurring pain in the temples was probably the thing that woke Gina up. At least that was the first thing she felt when she finally managed to open her eyes. It took a while though. Limbs dull, weak, it almost felt good to lie down on the cold pavement, and had not it be for the pain, she would probably float in half awake/half asleep zone a bit longer. What happened, where the man with an almond breath had vanished, she had no knowledge of. The last thing she remembered, she was trying to wiggle away, while he was pulling her hand backward, and that’s when she dropped… Her heart almost jumped out her chest, making her forgetting the pain, making her mind rushing, in panic, towards only one idea: god please let it be somewhere near… And it was. Her handbag was lying there, she grabbed it, ripped it open, and frantically searched for a pack of kleenex.

“Oh holly bleeding hell… it’s here!!!

She pulled out a couple of tissues, and the paper was there, too. She was thinking about another place to hide it for a second, then just put it into her pocket. What a hell… I’ll make this over today, anyways…

Lifting herself up from the floor, she started to wander what the hell happened… must be somebody watching over me, whose existence I’m not aware of… aliens? Smoker? A man in a black suit? It was funny how the first mental link was to the X-Files, and it’s been a while since she ceased to depend on the show…. She walked slowly to the office, unaware of the fact that people were staring at her torn clothes… she was thinking about genesis, and how strange is it.. the whole code, the key to the pattern, can fit onto a piece of paper not bigger than a box of cigarettes. She’ll give it to George today, she decided yesterday, after a meeting at Bryden’s… Its hard to believe how everything, now that she knew all the facts, make perfect sense, making her look like an idiot…But it sure like hell will be an interesting thing to read, she thought… all those monkeys… all that time… She was playing with the idea that, after all, it has to be a postmodern, when they grabbed her, showed an ether-soaked handkerchief in her face, making the outline of every object and shape bent, then blurred. Carlos slide open the door. “Weird, I know this blue van from somewhere… Gina, being the master of irrelevant details, let this last thought fight with the fumes, then let go…

[edit] The Oasis Prison

Of all those in the army close to the commander none is more intimate than the secret agent; of all rewards none more liberal than those given to secret agents; of all matters none is more confidential than those relating to secret operations. --Sun Tsu

In the beginning there was the sun, and then came the rain in Hamburg, just off the Reperbahn, in one of the tiny pre-war flats that share a common bathroom, a young woman stood by the window and watched the cars pass by. It was quite dreadful place, no sane mortals could live there more than two days. She had been there for six months. She was orignally from Moldova, well raised by doting parents, smart and youthfully pretty. The reflection she saw now in the window, of her face catching the sun against the shadows of the flat beyond, was already changed as de drops painted stripes on the glass.

She had wanted to spend some time in a foreign country, to experience another culture and learn another language - that's what she told her mother and father. She longed to know something of the scarred world of Eastern Europe beyond her private convent education and the small, picturesque mountain town that had remained hidden away from the world. Those were the end days of the Eastern Bloc and she had longed to see the misery she knew existed elsewhere, to fill up a part of her that demanded to be fully human and to know risk, danger and pain. She had chosen Germany first on her tour of pain and headed to Hamburg, capital of prematurely wrinkled hookers, outdated leopard skin tights and cheap switchblade knives. On the train there she had befriended Mikhael, who had told her of the personal agency he owned and given her his business card, saying she would be ideal for a special job he had on his books. She went there with no idea of what was waiting for her.

They'd burnt her passport, given her drugs and kept her in the flat off the Reperbahn. Helena had not seen Mikhael since his first visit to the flat, when he had raped and beaten her. She had developed a fanatical and violent hatred of him. Yet at the same time she knew that her hopes of ever getting out depended on him. Sahra Wagenknecht was the key, who came to see her on behalf of Mikhael. She could convince Sahra to let her go. They had become friendly. She knew Sahra must feel some sort of compassion for her.

Surprisingly her flat was a not too bad a place - an oasis in this blighted house. Sometimes she even tried to get rid of the addiction. But she was never successful. This evening she tried to sit in her armchair and read a magazine, but her thoughts were restless. She was trying again to stop taking the drugs so readily supplied to her after every client. The cloying nausea of withdrawal was just starting to kick in.

There came a sudden knock at the door, frightening her. After a moment she got up, crossed the room and opened the door. In front of her was a man in a dark grey coat, dark hair, and a pale, nameless face.

"Helena," he said, looking at her in the eyes. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth open. But before she could utter a word he rushed forwards, grabbed her hand and whipped her away.

"What are you doing? Let me be!" she cried as he dragged her across the tangled weedy patch between the house and the pavement. He paused for half a second, turned and gave her a quick once over. "Come, hurry up and do not ask!"

Frightened she followed him. They were running very fast and as they reached the crossroad on the end of the street there was a great explosion behind them. They both turned. The row of flats she was just a minute ago was in ruins, flames leaping from blackened windows, roofs caved in. Helena's ears filled with ringing silence.

"What happened?" she stuttered with tears in her eyes. "I could have died..."

"You are giving me too many questions, girl. Just one after another. There is an answer for everything in this world, you just have to seek patiently," the man said.

"Who are you?" said Helena angry, she started to shiver and sweat. It was here right now. She was really angry that she did not die and had to suffer now.

"I am..." – "...Ka."

"Ka? Huh. Great. I have ever wanted to meet my Ka. I had such a feeling there is something missing in my life." said Helena with a sad smile. Ka grinned. Helena stared at Ka and then at her former house. "How did you know?" She shuddered.

"That's my business... to know..." replied Ka.

Helena burst into tears. "Everything I had ... is gone...and I have to stay here. I do not want to! Do you hear me? I wish I could die. Why did you do that? Why did you save me?" Helena yelled at Ka and her lips went violet.

"Calm down", Ka said gently, but it had no effect. "You must live. We need you. I will let you know later. Now come on..."

"Listen you ...," Helena wanted to give him some names but nothing bad enough came on her mind, " I do not know you and I am not going anywhere with you. I feel miserable because I need my stuff and I am going to get some."

"I will not argue with you." said Ka and made a strange move with his right hand. Then she followed him without knowing why and how.

[edit] Dread

We thought a tsunami had hit the foam-bathing crowd when someone broke into song in the dreamy holiday bar called Hasty Wayne's. Carlo turned toward the sound. Everybody here knew Big Benji, a man of South-african origin. His family had been in the diamond business for generations. In fact, the word among the traders was that Big B was onto something huge, possibly a rare 100 carat stone, called the 'universe'. Word on the street was that the universe was recently pilfered from a green-toothed childe in Cape Town but had changed a few hands. Rumors had spread thick and fast, about its black radiance, strange cut and potential for building high power lasers. Carlo knew Big Benji was looking for him, but within the peaceful face of Carlo was a fear. Carlo previously was Big Benji's partner. Big Benji was raising Carlo's daughter Anna after an accident in which Carlo lost both legs. If Carlo had a 100 yellow crayons, he would have gifted it to her, that is how much he loved her. But his eyes bred contempt for Big B. Benji winks at Carlo and Carlo draws out the blueprints. Benji's men pass Carlo a briefcase. And Carlo quietly walks away.

Meanwhile, Mikhael had blown up the Neo. He had followed his directions to letter. And even when Sahra had asked him to shoot the man in the red shirt, he complied. "But Where is Carlo?," he thought. He was supposed to be here by now. He had done everything command had told him to do, but now they order this meeting?

Now he knew why the guys across town had dreaded his reunion with Carlo. Was he good at what he did? Undoubtedly. Mikhael muttered to himself "Avoir d'autres chats à fouetter." I have other fish to fry. Was Carlo deadly efficient? Yes, when he wanted to be. Mikhael had always trusted Carlo despite what the guys downtown thought.Mikhael decided to find out what had happened, and got up. Just as he was walking through the door he saw a gorgeous girl looking at him. She smiled slowly and begged him with her eyes to come over, which he did. She placed one hand in his neck and pulled him closer, whispering something in his ear. Intoxicated by her musky perfume he noticed a necklace dangling between her golden br**sts. It was a piece of rice, wih the name 'Eva' written on it. "Yes, I would very much like to join you in death, Eva" he whispered back. "Have you found this piece of rice here? I think it is mine. I missed it". Maybe Mikhael had already seen that girl. She was sad but clever and concentrated, and nice too. Mikhael did not need another ideal character to introducing in his life. He wanted a real person. He felt to wanish all the other women as ghosts of his children's life. Not because this girl was the only but because he felt better. His mental status was improved. The name on the piece of rice had to be that of the girl but he did not ask her it. She gave him the object and said: "It is good I found it".

[edit] Sahrah's Place

All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must watch the Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman movie, 'Far Far Away' - we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him. -- Sun Tzu, the Art of War

And then, with a sudden start, she woke up. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut again. Maybe, she thought, it had all been a dream! But what a confusing, jumbled dream... almost as if a mausoleum had been constructed by a million short squat black and white flightless birds. Oh well. She rolled over and went back to sleep. Perhaps to dream some more... what would she dream about this time?

Then she felt a cold shiver descend on her, like a knife through her heart. Looking up in the wide open sky she saw an angel descending slowly towards her. And then, with a sudden start, she woke up. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut again. Maybe, she thought, it had all been a dream! But what a confusing, jumbled dream... almost as if a mausoleum had been constructed by a million short squat black and white flightless birds. Oh well. She rolled over and went back to sleep. Perhaps to dream some more... what would she dream about this time?

The rattle of the door handle pulled her back from the enveloping warmth she was sinking into. A surge of black humor filled her as she debated between telling the caller ; "can't get to the door, all tied up". The opening of the outer door followed by the calling of her name immediately drove out all the endless puns floating around her brain.

"Sahra?"

She tasted the salt on her lips and wet face as she imagined Tanya's teenage son's face when as he came further into the room. She got up, and worried that she would look as bad as she felt. "What are you doing here?"

[edit] Presence

"Did you know Fellini," he asked. She couldn't answer. Helena thought that Cock Kai might be referring to one of her clients, and she made a habit of never remembering her clients names. "Never mind," Ford Ka said. They were walking through a park that Helena didn't know. Ford Ka had taken her with him in his car, a 1955 Mercedes 300SL Gullwing 3.0 litre straight six, rear wheel drive classic, and they drove out of Hamburg, into the Nordic German countryside. After about forty minutes drive, Ford Ka parked the car next to a deserted farm. They walked for a while, Helena struggeling on her high heels, then they crossed a little forest, and then entered a neatly maintained parkside. They curved around a little pond, and then they stood in front of a grand countryhouse.

We're there," Ford Kai said. "Come." They mounted the stairs, and Ford Ka pushed the door that was ajar, and they entered a spacious hall.

All round the walls, candles flickered in their holders. Between them, at intervals, were long narrow mirrors, their gilt edges reflecting the darting flickers of yellow. It was, Helena thought as she looked around the vast empty space, to be some kind of prelude to a grand happening.

"Look up," Ford Ka said, and as she did so, she became aware of a large screen in the roofspace, a screen resembling not only a large painting curving above her, but also a kind of television screen, and as she continued staring up at it, Helena became aware of an intense light circling around where she stood. "Come," Ford Ka said, "let me introduce you to some of my other guests." "I may be cheap(of course i am), but I am cheerful".

Helena couldn't make out anyone in the room, but sensed that there were more people present. When her eyes got accustomed to the candlelit dark, she saw a man standing in the corner. He wore an immaculate white shirt and was studying a painting on the wall. In his hands he carried a little pile of car magazines. The man turned around observing Helena from top toe. "Well hello" the man said. "Finally you're here. We've been waiting for ever!" And he smiled.

Helena felt her throath tighten and her heart being emptied of blood by a merciless squeezing fist."I shall complete this action if you don't do exactly what we instruct you," This man said, abruptly releasing his grip. Helena would soon discover that his name was Dimitri.

[edit] Feast

Helena was grateful to Ka for saving her, but what she had heard from the lips of the mysterious man in that large house was very unsettling.

Ka and this man, Rollerson, had made her a proposition not much better than the imprisoned apartment that Ka had so hypnotically led her away from and to freedom. But, was it really feedom.

Now they had proposed (literally proposed) something that would ensure her a life of prestige and comfort, but it was still a gilded cage as far as she was concerned.

If Helena really felt she had a choice she would have refused them and left to go home where she belonged. But, as she looked over at Ka she realized that there was something quietly threatening about him. He was not a man to be refused.

And so, here Helena stood, dressed in the most magnificent bridal gown. Staring at her slim figure in this clearly expensive silk dress, she wondered about how so many things could have gone wrong, in an endless force of fate.

Helena and Ka were in the vestry of an enormous church. Outside, the church was filled with the most amazing array of dignitaries and celebrities.

“This is not going to work,” Helena objected.

“Trust me,” Ka reassured her (though she remained secretly unconvinced). “Mr Dimitry is a most respected man. He is a very high ranking diplomat. You will be his wife and your every need will be taken care of. He will be able to assure you of personal protection and safety. You won’t even have to spend much time with him, unless you both find that you do grow close as time goes along.”

Helena nodded, more out of a sense of defeat than because of any actual assent. For some reason, she was to be a mysterious, unknown but beautiful woman marrying a respected diplomat.

Little did Helena know that among the guests at this wedding were a few people she would rather be a million miles away from.

Sitting on the side of the church meant to be reserved for the bride’s family, were Sarah Wagennecht, Tony, Carlo. and all manner of other operatives from ‘command.’ They were hardly ‘family’ to Helena, in fact they had been her abductors and kidnappers responsible for keeping her in her apartment under a form of house arrest.

Sadly, Ka knew them better than he had let her know when he appeared and seemed to save her. He was not actually saving Helena from the ‘command’ but in fact had been taking her to the next job they wanted her to do for them, marrying this dignitary as the perfect pawn for their operations.

To have the wife of a famous diplomat under one’s control, she could take things from country to country under the cover of diplomatic privilege without any obstruction.

However. The ‘command’ was not going to have a smooth operation this time. Inspector Gerarson was looking at the guest list with great concern. He had not ‘twigged’ to the plot in relation to the arranged marriage, but there were certain person or persons in the guest list that he had major concerns about. “There is no way that the Prime Minister can be allowed to attend this function.”

“But,” one of his police officers objected. “Sir, he is on his way here. He has been invited by the Diplomatic service to attend the wedding. it is a major social occasion.”

“No way. get in contact with his minders and turn him back home. This is too much of a security risk. I have reason to believe that a murder is in that crowd,” Gerarson explained.

“Won’t the Prime Minister’s non-show warn the guests that there is something wrong?” The officer inquired.

“Not necessarily. I have arranged to have a message sent to the organizers saying the Prime Minister is coming, but will arrive after the first course is served, just as the main meal. SO until they are placing the baked fish dinners onto people’s tables they won’t think any more of it. That will allow us to monitor the security measures we have had put in place. They don’t know it down there, but the place is wired for sight and sound,” Gerarson put on an alarming grin.

Ka had taken his place in the church. Helena was pacing up and down in the vestry. She was very worried about this. She was beginning to realize that she would still be at the beck and call of others. She opened the vestry door and peered out through a crack. Suddenly the back of a man’s head made her start. And the sight of a big bald head of the man next to him made Helena almost faint. Even from behind, she knew them.

They were Carlo, Big Tony and Mikhael and beside them was Sarah.

“My God,” She whispered bitterly. “I am still in their web”

Helena was not hysterical. She tried to find a door that would lead directly outside, but they were locked. She though of just walking out of the vestry door and turning right and running, but she noticed a big man in a black suit watching her and knew it was a security guard.

A man entered the vestry. He was the priest for the wedding, or so Helena, and the guard who saw him enter, assumed.

“Hello Helena, are we ready?” The priest asked brightly.

“AH,….. well… Father… I……” Helena hesitated.

“My name is Fr Sean, by the way. Now listen. You are nervous…. I shall turn on some music to relax you.” the priest switched on a tape machine and rhythmic music filled the vestry. “I find dance can be so relaxing. Would you mind doing the tango with me, something completely ridiculous, just to relax your anxiety……….”

Sarah Wagenknecht, a highly respected minister dressed in a blue that seemend almost black was wondering what was taking Helena so long. She went to the vestry and was surprised to see a priests stole lying crumpled outside the door of the vestry.

Sarah looked inside and stifled a scream. There lying on the floor was the body of Helena. Sarah was heartless in her reaction. “They have ruined everything.” She felt for a pulse. There was none. Helena was dead. Sarah took her phone and spoke rapidly. “Our bride is dead. Now what do we do? Really, a second. Can we pass her off as the same lady? Well, now that you mention it, no one has met Helena so why not. What is this new lady’s name?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was a husky alto. “Gina was a lady we abducted much like Helena. She has been a prisoner waiting for our plans and now she can be the backup.”

Inspector Gerarson was listening into the conversation in the Vestry. he was amazed. He had unwittingly overheard about the plan to use diplomats as a cover for illegal movement of goods through different countries. This was a bonus. He was just about to send his men in to find out what the commotion was in the vestry, but he now knew that the Tango poisoner had struck again. He called his men to go in.

When Carlo, Tony and the rest saw the police running towards everyone,m they knew the game was up. They ran for their lives, knocking chairs and people over to cause maximum confusion. They began shooting with guns they had smuggled into the church via their own security guards.

In the confusion, Gina, looked down at the stray dog that had run for cover in the vestry, where she cowered, beside the blanket-covered body of Helena. The dog looked terrified. Suddenly, she saw the shape of a man rushing towards her, reflected in Inu'st eyes. She leapt aside and he went crashing into the bookcase behind. This 'backup bride' was able to use this momentary delay to break free of her captors and run into the confusion.

She rushed over to the church hall and knocked over the caterer who was carrying trays of fish to the table. He was about to yell at her, not realizing what was happening next door in the church (he assumed it was fireworks) when he exclaimed: Gina, It’s you> I …… I thought you were dead????

“Mark? Gina screamed. "I ….. what are you doing here…. I am saved. “

“Gina, what happened. Where have you been?” Mark said delirious with joy.

“You won’t believe it. I have been held a slave by this disgusting group of lowlives. How did you know I was here? “ Gina asked.

“I didn’t,” Mark said. I am the caterer. They loved my fish so much, I was doing the main meals.”

Sara reached over and kissed him, while in the background, the bodies of carlo and Tony and Sarah were being carried out of the church. No last rites for them this day.

Mark smiled as he knew that his first love, even over the ‘ones that got away’ was back with him again. “Thank goodness for that kiss. I was fishing for compliments all night.”

[edit] Epilogue -

James placed his pen back on the desk and surveyed the result.

"But, what was the Genesis project, Jimmy?" Walry asked scratching his head.

James smiled. "Well, Walry, in the beginning there was only the word, and everything, absolutely everything flows from the power of the word."

"But," Walry objected, "I have read fucking sections of it. It jumps around all over the place."

James smiled as a monk. After a short time he nodded eagerly at Walry. "I've got it. I can only explain what it means by way of an analogy, because the meaning is in some ways beyond words, primordial. Let me explain by saying this." He paused. "Have you ever been driving along at night and suddenly you see at the side of the road a person standing there waiting to cross? You put on the brakes and then as you fucking approach you realise it is not a person at all, but just a tree. But in the light, in the distance, you could swear that this was a living, breathing human being..."

Walry looked blank.

"Well," Big James said with a wild sweeping gesture, holding up the pages of his manuscript; a manuscript that defied defintion and genre. "Behold, this is my tree at the side of the road." The behemoth plopped open, revealing a random page of no significance.

Walry didn't comprehend, perhaps he never would. "What?," he said, squinting his eyes as leaned forward, inches away from its surface. You mean this cum stain here at the bottom of page 142, right below the passage about Sahra Wagenknecht?"

James snatched the manuscript away from Walry, apparently embarrassed. No, James thought to himself. Walry was like a painter that had failed to take a few steps back, to see the whole picture, as it were. A general lack of perspective.

The work was like an ugly child, James, like its mother, and Walry, like the gawking eyes of a pathetic voyeur with melophobia.

James had a strange sense of satisfaction about his finished work, if one could ever call it 'finished.' It may not have made much sense, but he enjoyed writing it. He hesitated for a moment and wondered if he should go back and add some deep and meaningful subtext that spoke of the nobility of the human condition. The thing is, that there is a mysterious beauty to a collection of random and only-obtusely connected themes and chapters. For, the great thing about humans, James thought, is that they are, above all else 'creator of meaning'.

Walry objected: "But it doesn't make any bloody sense."

James loved this moment. "Well, I suppose I could just take a hammer to all the pieces of text and wildly connect them together and MAKE THEM into a logical flowing piece of crap. After all, that is all Virginia Woolf did with Mrs Dalloway, and she's regarded as the nemesis of Literature."

James face was becoming redder than normal, (he was having one of THOSE moments again). "What does it mean for something to "make sense" anyway? Maybe it should be our prime mission, to strive to ensure, (above all things), that we can NEVER be accused of "making sense" just so our audience can sleep soundly tonight, cosy and comfy. Unchallenged."

It is as if humans exist to keep finding patterns and meaning in even the most random of sequences, thoughts and scenes. These disparate thoughts that James had penned down randomly, as different ideas came to him; some mysterious, some sad, some hilarious, stand as a fragile testament to the fucking human condition. "After all, is not the world a collection of individuals who engage together in the great dialogue that is human significance and community." Then everything crumpled up.

Below is the Gina, Mark, Carlo, Sean, Helena, Sarah, subplot in order of continuity: (as far as I can make out):

[edit] Genesis

Gina hadn't heard from Mark in a long time. She was growing tired of always playing second fiddle to his love of fish. She sometimes had nightmares of finding him in the arms of some giant mermaid, their embrace lit by the moon and some odd twin passions she could not ever hope to grasp.

She began to wonder whether he was worth it - his pursuit of the so-called fishing trip seemed to be turning into a holy quest for him. All she ever heard from him was his ideas on catching it - what wait he would endure, what new thoughts he would employ, what the fish was doing, where his mind was flowing. She sighed before hauling herself over to the pantry, where she contemplated their miserable selection of food with no small measure of depression: tins of fish, fish, and more fish. Just like this relationship: a type of pungeant dread permeating the surroundings with a whiff of socks.

Nothing is worth this, she thought bitterly. Her stomach was rumbling and the apartment stank. She still couldn't figure out what Rollerson meant by the "Genesis project" but her hunger was making it impossible for her to think about that now. Cooking smells would do nothing to help, even if there had been more to cook than the fish.

She decided to order her favorite pizza, with extra anchovies and Larry the Roach on top. Gina had Carlo to thank for sharing that addiction. God. AFter that, she would go for a walk to clear her head and try and work out where this "Genesis" thing came in. She paused, phone in hand. For the first time she began to consider the anchovie thing. They were fish too! And, as with Carlo, perhaps they could help open a dialogue with Mark. Maybe lead to the same sort of obsession she had enjoyed with Carlo. Fishing, pizzas, the whole world outside their bedroom had ceased to exist for who knew how any days at a time. The slightly salty flavor on their tongues from much mutual probing of sweaty skin folds was echoed satisfyingly by the little anchovies on the delivered pizza Carlo had finally been forced to order as their energy waned.

Gina wanted the feeling of that time back. Nowhere to be, no-one waiting, nothing to do except revel in the joy of the now. Could it be with Mark?

Little James lifted his quill from his manuscript. It wasn't only his character's stomach that was beginning to grumble, he realized. He remembered that George was supposed to meet him for lunch - or was that supposed to happen later? He couldn't keep track of things ever since he had shuffled chapters and re-ordered them in a vain attempt to provide an overarching theme to the work.

He fumbled for his cell phone and hit the quick dial.

"Jim, my friend, where are you?"

"Georgy, I used to think that as a writer I could do ANYTHING. Since it is possible to write anything one wants, the author is technically like a god, exercising absolute control over his or her characters and the events."

George sighed, "You speak in the past tense, Jimmy, why wouldn't you think that now?"

"Because it is not true."

"But you CAN write anything you want!"

"But even a 'god' is constrained by circumstance," James said with surprising passion, "I COULD write anything I want, but it won't ring true. The more three dimensional I make the character, the more I (or worse) the reader is likely to say, 'but Chad wouldn't DO that'. People can tell when the author is fucking with the character or the plot, they just know, it doesn't work. So I, as author, am so much less than a god."

"Yeah, yeah. So tell me this, Jim, are we doing this lunch thing or what?"

[edit] Pizza Shop

It was a bustling lunch hour in the down-town pizza restaurant. Wiping beading perspiration from his eyes, Little James peered around to see who was in: some families, the usual tired and harassed fathers with ebullient children, some loners, some familiar faces, not known by name. He saw them reflected in the marbled eyes of that stray dog Inu. His mind drifted, he thought of his mother who was dead.

He received a phone call from Gina - one of his regulars - she wanted her usual - a banana pizza. He'd be happy to oblige.

Later in the afternoon as the lunchtime crowd dispersed, Little James attempted another shot at his mighty tome, his magna opus. As his mind tuned out from his surroundings he got down to the task of deciding just how he develop the motley bunch of characters he had penned so far.

"Hey fellas, mind the shop I have some real business to attend to...and make-a sure that the delivery comin' soon gets-a put in the fridge yeah!" Little James promptly exited the shop not really giving a damn about the it now that he was on the road to noveldom. A three novel book deal, public signings, free bananas and supermodels...ah Little James had a really good feeling about this.

[edit] The Cardboard Boxer

Just getting their overalls off, the dawn sun lighting the top of the Rockies, the two handsome young American factory workers, looking as though they had walked straight off a Socialist realist propaganda poster, entered a small coffee shop in Boulder, Colorado. A diminutive waitress approached. She gave them a table near the window and then took their orders. "I would like two coffees, black no sugar," said one, looking up at her sullen little face. "And perhaps I'll take a waffle with blueberry syrup too."

They had finished their coffee by the time the waffles arrived, the taste of them turning bitter and acrid on their tongues. "Funny that, I really am in no mood to eat Tuna", said one.

"Strange, that," the other worker responded," I realized myself that I am in no mood for tuna, but even stranger is that this thought occurred to us at all, since it is breakfast and we have ordered waffles with blueberry syrup".

"It is a dissociative mnemonic device, another trick of the capitalist superstructure." The one worker suggested.

"A fool's gambit, if so. There is no money to be made on an aversion to tuna. We are suffering from a simple mass delusion." The other worker looked outside at the dirty mounds of snow. "Perhaps it is the heat."

"Wait, maybe there is money to be made. What is the opposite of tuna? Some sort of citrus fruit, perhaps a berry?" The one worker glanced at his waffles and the potential goldmines they were smothered in.

The other worker scoffed. "Fish do not have opposites. You cannot place negative signs in drift nets and harvest oranges. These are complex devices that cannot be reduced to ideology or math."

"You speak as if math is not an ideology, borne of the tyranny of subtractive logic." The one worker glanced at his waffle, a grid of nine squares by nine, cut circular. "Subtractive logic is the heart of capitalism."

"You and your capitalism. That Chad Thompson has really messed up your brain and your heart." They were quiet for a while, and felt how someone they met months ago still made his way between them.

Meanwhile 9 timezones away, the setting sun shone in through the panorama windows of the second floor of Neo. Mikhael sat in the corner gazing out at the view.From side to side of Riga decorated houses in Modern Style had left the place to futuristic buildings.The sky was clear over the harbour and the cold was beginning to make itself felt. The bare wines slept on the near hills, with a little snow here and there. The town spread quiet on the right bank of its river, the spans of the New Bridge stood out against the horizon. The Daugava, the old town, and the railway station were laid out beneath him. This was his empire.

Mikhael gave the bartender a slight nod of his head and reached for the phone. Though well known for being ruthless he was also a little slow, the excesses of both his dining that day and the vodka only hindering him further. He took the phone in his hand, then paused. Something was wrong - no one dared call him when he did not expect it, not at this time. He paused... it was... Sahra Wagenknecht... That meant trouble was on its way. Didn't they decide not to call each other? Not until the Big Problem was solved?

He sputtered... "What the hell are you...", "What?" "Yes there is a man in a red shirt here... but look...." "Aha..." His voice dropped, he fell deadly silent, his eyes took on the smooth sheen of a predator. "Ten minutes, ok...". Mikhael checked his wallet. He didn't realize that his cell phone had a digital clock on it so he always used his calendar. He took out his finepoint and circled the date. Ten minutes! He'd be ready! A wry grin came across his face as he threw a 10 Lat note down on the table.

Carlos returned from the bathroom, "Never mind, in two minutes it will make no difference... I guess that means you got the call too, lets do it!" "Two minutes" said Mikhael coldly and calmly looking at his watch.

Carlo nodded. He knew what had to be done, but he couldn't help wondering if there was a better way.

He bent down and set the timer on the detonator for one minute -just time enough to get down the escalator out of the door and and to jump out of the way of the falling debris. The explosive charge hidden inside his briefcase was just enough to do the job.

At that moment, back in corner of South America, in Buenos Aires, a tractor-trailer truck pulled away from a loading dock in the lamp-lit gloom, its haggard driver chewing on the cap of a pen he had just used to sign the shipping manifests. He was doomed. The truck keys must have been in his pocket.

[edit] The Road To Bailly Romainvilliers

Gina was a nightbird, though she'd never admit it. She hated getting up in the morning, because it meant going back to the grind. Every morning, she'd go through the same routine of drinking coffee, brushing her teeth (one of her real prides, her teeth), putting on the clothes she knew would attract maximum attention in the street and on the metro, not to mention at the office, arranging her hair just so, then putting on her knee-high boots before stomping out of her appartment in Issy.

Every morning, she'd get the same whistles and enamored cries from the youth in the street. A pack of would-be pushers, age somewhere between eight and twelve, boys and girls alike, they would invariably follow her with a air of envy. She did not seem to care that Sylvain, her boyfriend might get insanely jealous, he always seemed to be preoccupied with his next planned fishing trip. The boys would pretend not to notice the way her hips swayed, or the way her tits pushed through the fabric of her grey sweater. Gina would sometimes gratify them with a nod, even a smile, but would never engage conversation, because she knew where that would lead her. The thing Gina valued more than her perfect body was privacy.

As usual, she was late. She took the RER. Crossing alleyways wasn't Gina favorite game, but this morning, it was different. Her boss, old Pierre Dewinckel of Dewinckel et fils, good old Pierre had asked to come in early so as to prepare a witness for a deposition. Gina had a knack with nervous people. She always knew how to put them at ease, and Pierre, his hots for her notwithstanding, was keen on such things. He'd even hinted at a promotion in the near future, something Gina would welcome, though she suspected it entailed more than just treating witnesses right. On many occasions, when she was in Pierre's office, notepad and pen at the ready, she had noticed the woody in her boss's pants, and she knew it probably had a lot to do with her own attire, and the way she carried herself.

No doubt Pierre would hit the promotion subject again in the near future, among other things. Though he was nearing 60, he was still reasonably attractive, and Gina hadn't got laid in weeks--something she wouldn't admit in the presence of others, not even her best friend, Pamela--, though she let people think what they wanted to think.

The alleyway was darker than she thought, and Gina was careful not to step in puddles of unidentified liquids of various colors and consistance. The boots were made for walking alright, as the song went, but they were also brand new, and had cost her an arm and a leg. Their metal-covered heels htting the ground in cadence, Gina pushed her way past Dumpsters and scattered refusal. She heard a noise behind her, like a dog foraging in a trash can, and thought, Great, some stray doggie with his snout covered in shit or something; all he had to do was to greet her the way dogs always did, tongue out, a canine smile painted on the face, panting, begging for a stroke and a kind word. "Just what I need", Gina thought.

The first hit took her down to her knees.

The man hit her a second time, on the head, and she thought she was going to puke her croissant, right here and there. She managed to get on all fours and tried to right herself, but a strong hand pushed her back down. Then she heard a man--she thought it was a man--whisper in her ear:

"Vous êtes tranquil, et tout va bien!"

"What do you want?" she managed without looking back. She was truly scared, now, and for once, she regretted not acknowledging the youths attention, a few minutes back.

"Vous savez que je veux. Soyez silent et vous et moi, on va avoir un petite fête, chérie!"

Gina shivered. The man sounded French, but hey, this was Paris, France after all. No surprise there.

"You can't do that to a sister," she ventured.

The man then started to pull her jeans down, and Gina knew that if she didn't do something, anything, right now, she was dead. The man wouldn't let her go, not alive. Plus he seemed to know where she worked, and that was even scarier. She could feel something warm and hard pressing against her buttocks, but before she could do anything, she was flat on her belly again, her face inches from a dog turd. She started whimpering, but the man shushed her with a shove.

"Soyez ouvert!"

Gina nodded yes, and started to prepare for what she knew had been coming her way all along. The man kept on groping her, pulling down her underwear.

"Oui," she heard him say, almost reverently.

A sudden crack, a sharp intake of air, then she felt like a ton of brick had just fallen upon her back. She was pinned to the ground, no matter how hard she tried to move. The man was on top of her, but he didn't move, and she could feel his erection quickly fading. A liquid started oozing on the side of her face. It was warm, and smell of copper. It was red, too. Bright red.

She screamed. "Wrong move," another man's voice said behind her. Gina fainted.

Mr Dimitry, pushed the assailant off Gina and checked her breathing.

He had been successful - This is the third girl he had 'saved today.

Dimitry had saved them from the dangers of the city, (it never took long to find something bad going on in this town) but now their lives would be at the disposal of the "command" and its purposes.

[edit] The Oasis Prison

Of all those in the army close to the commander none is more intimate than the secret agent; of all rewards none more liberal than those given to secret agents; of all matters none is more confidential than those relating to secret operations. --Sun Tsu

In the beginning there was the sun, and then came the rain in Hamburg, just off the Reperbahn, in one of the tiny pre-war flats that share a common bathroom, a young woman stood by the window and watched the cars pass by. It was quite dreadful place, no sane mortals could live there more than two days. She had been there for six months. She was orignally from Moldova, well raised by doting parents, smart and youthfully pretty. The reflection she saw now in the window, of her face catching the sun against the shadows of the flat beyond, was already changed as de drops painted stripes on the glass.

She had wanted to spend some time in a foreign country, to experience another culture and learn another language - that's what she told her mother and father. She longed to know something of the scarred world of Eastern Europe beyond her private convent education and the small, picturesque mountain town that had remained hidden away from the world. Those were the end days of the Eastern Bloc and she had longed to see the misery she knew existed elsewhere, to fill up a part of her that demanded to be fully human and to know risk, danger and pain. She had chosen Germany first on her tour of pain and headed to Hamburg, capital of prematurely wrinkled hookers, outdated leopard skin tights and cheap switchblade knives. On the train there she had befriended Mikhael, who had told her of the personal agency he owned and given her his business card, saying she would be ideal for a special job he had on his books. She went there with no idea of what was waiting for her.

They'd burnt her passport, given her drugs and kept her in the flat off the Reperbahn. Helena had not seen Mikhael since his first visit to the flat, when he had raped and beaten her. She had developed a fanatical and violent hatred of him. Yet at the same time she knew that her hopes of ever getting out depended on him. Sahra Wagenknecht was the key, who came to see her on behalf of Mikhael. She could convince Sahra to let her go. They had become friendly. She knew Sahra must feel some sort of compassion for her.

Surprisingly her flat was a not too bad a place - an oasis in this blighted house. Sometimes she even tried to get rid of the addiction. But she was never successful. This evening she tried to sit in her armchair and read a magazine, but her thoughts were restless. She was trying again to stop taking the drugs so readily supplied to her after every client. The cloying nausea of withdrawal was just starting to kick in.

There came a sudden knock at the door, frightening her. After a moment she got up, crossed the room and opened the door. In front of her was a man in a dark grey coat, dark hair, and a pale, nameless face.

"Helena," he said, looking at her in the eyes. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth open. But before she could utter a word he rushed forwards, grabbed her hand and whipped her away.

"What are you doing? Let me be!" she cried as he dragged her across the tangled weedy patch between the house and the pavement. He paused for half a second, turned and gave her a quick once over. "Come, hurry up and do not ask!"

Frightened she followed him. They were running very fast and as they reached the crossroad on the end of the street there was a great explosion behind them. They both turned. The row of flats she was just a minute ago was in ruins, flames leaping from blackened windows, roofs caved in. Helena's ears filled with ringing silence.

"What happened?" she stuttered with tears in her eyes. "I could have died..."

"You are giving me too many questions, girl. Just one after another. There is an answer for everything in this world, you just have to seek patiently," the man said.

"Who are you?" said Helena angry, she started to shiver and sweat. It was here right now. She was really angry that she did not die and had to suffer now.

"I am..." – "...Ka."

"Ka? Huh. Great. I have ever wanted to meet my Ka. I had such a feeling there is something missing in my life." said Helena with a sad smile. Ka grinned. Helena stared at Ka and then at her former house. "How did you know?" She shuddered.

"That's my business... to know..." replied Ka.

Helena burst into tears. "Everything I had ... is gone...and I have to stay here. I do not want to! Do you hear me? I wish I could die. Why did you do that? Why did you save me?" Helena yelled at Ka and her lips went violet.

"Calm down", Ka said gently, but it had no effect. "You must live. We need you. I will let you know later. Now come on..."

"Listen you ...," Helena wanted to give him some names but nothing bad enough came on her mind, " I do not know you and I am not going anywhere with you. I feel miserable because I need my stuff and I am going to get some."

"I will not argue with you." said Ka and made a strange move with his right hand. Then she followed him without knowing why and how.

[edit] Dread

We thought a tsunami had hit the foam-bathing crowd when someone broke into song in the dreamy holiday bar called Hasty Wayne's. Carlo turned toward the sound. Everybody here knew Big Benji, a man of South-african origin. His family had been in the diamond business for generations. In fact, the word among the traders was that Big B was onto something huge, possibly a rare 100 carat stone, called the 'universe'. Word on the street was that the universe was recently pilfered from a green-toothed childe in Cape Town but had changed a few hands. Rumors had spread thick and fast, about its black radiance, strange cut and potential for building high power lasers. Carlo knew Big Benji was looking for him, but within the peaceful face of Carlo was a fear. Carlo previously was Big Benji's partner. Big Benji was raising Carlo's daughter Anna after an accident in which Carlo lost both legs. If Carlo had a 100 yellow crayons, he would have gifted it to her, that is how much he loved her. But his eyes bred contempt for Big B. Benji winks at Carlo and Carlo draws out the blueprints. Benji's men pass Carlo a briefcase. And Carlo quietly walks away.

Meanwhile, Mikhael had blown up the Neo. He had followed his directions to letter. And even when Sahra had asked him to shoot the man in the red shirt, he complied. "But Where is Carlo?," he thought. He was supposed to be here by now. He had done everything command had told him to do, but now they order this meeting?

Now he knew why the guys across town had dreaded his reunion with Carlo. Was he good at what he did? Undoubtedly. Mikhael muttered to himself "Avoir d'autres chats à fouetter." I have other fish to fry. Was Carlo deadly efficient? Yes, when he wanted to be. Mikhael had always trusted Carlo despite what the guys downtown thought.Mikhael decided to find out what had happened, and got up. Just as he was walking through the door he saw a gorgeous girl looking at him. She smiled slowly and begged him with her eyes to come over, which he did. She placed one hand in his neck and pulled him closer, whispering something in his ear. Intoxicated by her musky perfume he noticed a necklace dangling between her golden br**sts. It was a piece of rice, wih the name 'Eva' written on it. "Yes, I would very much like to join you in death, Eva" he whispered back. "Have you found this piece of rice here? I think it is mine. I missed it". Maybe Mikhael had already seen that girl. She was sad but clever and concentrated, and nice too. Mikhael did not need another ideal character to introducing in his life. He wanted a real person. He felt to wanish all the other women as ghosts of his children's life. Not because this girl was the only but because he felt better. His mental status was improved. The name on the piece of rice had to be that of the girl but he did not ask her it. She gave him the object and said: "It is good I found it".

[edit] Sahrah's Place

All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must watch the Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman movie, 'Far Far Away' - we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him. -- Sun Tzu, the Art of War

And then, with a sudden start, she woke up. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut again. Maybe, she thought, it had all been a dream! But what a confusing, jumbled dream... almost as if a mausoleum had been constructed by a million short squat black and white flightless birds. Oh well. She rolled over and went back to sleep. Perhaps to dream some more... what would she dream about this time?

Then she felt a cold shiver descend on her, like a knife through her heart. Looking up in the wide open sky she saw an angel descending slowly towards her. And then, with a sudden start, she woke up. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut again. Maybe, she thought, it had all been a dream! But what a confusing, jumbled dream... almost as if a mausoleum had been constructed by a million short squat black and white flightless birds. Oh well. She rolled over and went back to sleep. Perhaps to dream some more... what would she dream about this time?

The rattle of the door handle pulled her back from the enveloping warmth she was sinking into. A surge of black humor filled her as she debated between telling the caller ; "can't get to the door, all tied up". The opening of the outer door followed by the calling of her name immediately drove out all the endless puns floating around her brain.

"Sahra?"

She tasted the salt on her lips and wet face as she imagined Tanya's teenage son's face when as he came further into the room. She got up, and worried that she would look as bad as she felt. "What are you doing here?"

[edit] Presence

"Did you know Fellini," he asked. She couldn't answer. Helena thought that Cock Kai might be referring to one of her clients, and she made a habit of never remembering her clients names. "Never mind," Ford Ka said. They were walking through a park that Helena didn't know. Ford Ka had taken her with him in his car, a 1955 Mercedes 300SL Gullwing 3.0 litre straight six, rear wheel drive classic, and they drove out of Hamburg, into the Nordic German countryside. After about forty minutes drive, Ford Ka parked the car next to a deserted farm. They walked for a while, Helena struggeling on her high heels, then they crossed a little forest, and then entered a neatly maintained parkside. They curved around a little pond, and then they stood in front of a grand countryhouse.

We're there," Ford Kai said. "Come." They mounted the stairs, and Ford Ka pushed the door that was ajar, and they entered a spacious hall.

All round the walls, candles flickered in their holders. Between them, at intervals, were long narrow mirrors, their gilt edges reflecting the darting flickers of yellow. It was, Helena thought as she looked around the vast empty space, to be some kind of prelude to a grand happening.

"Look up," Ford Ka said, and as she did so, she became aware of a large screen in the roofspace, a screen resembling not only a large painting curving above her, but also a kind of television screen, and as she continued staring up at it, Helena became aware of an intense light circling around where she stood. "Come," Ford Ka said, "let me introduce you to some of my other guests." "I may be cheap(of course i am), but I am cheerful".

Helena couldn't make out anyone in the room, but sensed that there were more people present. When her eyes got accustomed to the candlelit dark, she saw a man standing in the corner. He wore an immaculate white shirt and was studying a painting on the wall. In his hands he carried a little pile of car magazines. The man turned around observing Helena from top toe. "Well hello" the man said. "Finally you're here. We've been waiting for ever!" And he smiled.

Helena felt her throath tighten and her heart being emptied of blood by a merciless squeezing fist."I shall complete this action if you don't do exactly what we instruct you," This man said, abruptly releasing his grip. Helena would soon discover that his name was Dimitri.

[edit] Murderers and Millionaires

Sean liked to call himself the Tango muerder- he wasn't sure why - His date was Amberdale, who he had met on a trip. She had recently broken her ankle and was having some difficulty staying on her feet at all, let alone eating fish with her would-be killer.

Amberdale tried to scream several times but Sean kept turning the music up to drown her out or leaning in to kiss her. His breath smelled of fish (and not in a good way). From the smell, she thought it had probably been kippers that he last ate - which she remembered where a good the English liked to eat for breakfast.

Why she was remembering this useless information when her life should be flashing before her eyes was beyond her comprehension. Maybe what they say about that sort of thing never really happened. Or maybe her life was not really worth having a flashback for; she was after all only 23 and a half, but at once felt like 87.

The climax of the dance arrived and Sean wiped it off with a tissue he was sweating as he led her gracefully across the room and back again before the final dip to signify the end of the dance. Sean leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth, tongue and all. Amberdale felt her body retch as the taste of kippers overwhelmed her.

He then released her and watched. She started to feel extremely weak, and her body's convulsions intensified. Poison. She did not have the time to wonder how, only collapsed.

Sean was pleased with his latest work. Pity that she was unable to dance as well as she could have but what can one do? He took the dress off his victim as a keepsake, so that he could relive the dance they shared. He had forced her to wear it and watched as she changed her clothes but that did not matter and she seemed rather confused by the whole ordeal. It made no difference though as now she lay there dead, wearing only a white slip and a mismatched fuschia lace bra.

It was time to flee the scene. He was sure the neighbours would have called the police to complain about the noise and he did not want them to find him here when they found the body. But before he left, he placed a fish scale on the woman's cheek, so that it looked like she was crying, and left his favourite paperback beside the body.

He slid out through the back window and through the side gate into his Austin Mini. A fish fell out of his glove-box. Life was, in a way, quite fishy.

Lieutenant Corry van Gorp surveyed the scene of the crime as various scientist types took pictures and samples of various things in Amberdale's room. He already knew that it was the Tango Poisoner and it was most likely that he left nothing behind except that stupid fish scale on the victim's cheek. And always the same damned book. It was too hard to determine the origin of one paperback since it could come from anywhere.

One of the police officers called him from outside.

"Could you ever fancy a man in uniform?" stated the policeman.

"Yes but as long as you keep it a secret?"

"One of them saw a car drive off. They thought the licence may have spelt out a type of fungus - but they can't remember which one."

"Ergot, Fly Agaric, Truffle?"

"Well, at least we got the type of car. Any bets this guy ditches the car like all the others?"

"Yeah well, we already know all this. We know that he has a pattern and that he has a lot of resources. Plus the fact he can tango. Did I miss anything officer?"

"Bang on. Maybe there's a pattern with the victims. This has only been the third murder maybe we should see if there's a pattern in all this madness."

"Smart idea. Get right on it and see if you can discover the name of the poison this guy uses."

The officer saluted van gorp and calls back to HQ to relay the instructions to his inferiors. Meanwhile Corry had other things to do. Life never seemed so endless as after someone else's death.

[edit] Feast

Helena was grateful to Ka for saving her, but what she had heard from the lips of the mysterious man in that large house was very unsettling.

Ka and this man, Rollerson, had made her a proposition not much better than the imprisoned apartment that Ka had so hypnotically led her away from and to freedom. But, was it really feedom.

Now they had proposed (literally proposed) something that would ensure her a life of prestige and comfort, but it was still a gilded cage as far as she was concerned.

If Helena really felt she had a choice she would have refused them and left to go home where she belonged. But, as she looked over at Ka she realized that there was something quietly threatening about him. He was not a man to be refused.

And so, here Helena stood, dressed in the most magnificent bridal gown. Staring at her slim figure in this clearly expensive silk dress, she wondered about how so many things could have gone wrong, in an endless force of fate.

Helena and Ka were in the vestry of an enormous church. Outside, the church was filled with the most amazing array of dignitaries and celebrities.

“This is not going to work,” Helena objected.

“Trust me,” Ka reassured her (though she remained secretly unconvinced). “Mr Dimitry is a most respected man. He is a very high ranking diplomat. You will be his wife and your every need will be taken care of. He will be able to assure you of personal protection and safety. You won’t even have to spend much time with him, unless you both find that you do grow close as time goes along.”

Helena nodded, more out of a sense of defeat than because of any actual assent. For some reason, she was to be a mysterious, unknown but beautiful woman marrying a respected diplomat.

Little did Helena know that among the guests at this wedding were a few people she would rather be a million miles away from.

Sitting on the side of the church meant to be reserved for the bride’s family, were Sarah Wagennecht, Tony, Carlo. and all manner of other operatives from ‘command.’ They were hardly ‘family’ to Helena, in fact they had been her abductors and kidnappers responsible for keeping her in her apartment under a form of house arrest.

Sadly, Ka knew them better than he had let her know when he appeared and seemed to save her. He was not actually saving Helena from the ‘command’ but in fact had been taking her to the next job they wanted her to do for them, marrying this dignitary as the perfect pawn for their operations.

To have the wife of a famous diplomat under one’s control, she could take things from country to country under the cover of diplomatic privilege without any obstruction.

However. The ‘command’ was not going to have a smooth operation this time. Inspector Gerarson was looking at the guest list with great concern. He had not ‘twigged’ to the plot in relation to the arranged marriage, but there were certain person or persons in the guest list that he had major concerns about. “There is no way that the Prime Minister can be allowed to attend this function.”

“But,” one of his police officers objected. “Sir, he is on his way here. He has been invited by the Diplomatic service to attend the wedding. it is a major social occasion.”

“No way. get in contact with his minders and turn him back home. This is too much of a security risk. I have reason to believe that a murder is in that crowd,” Gerarson explained.

“Won’t the Prime Minister’s non-show warn the guests that there is something wrong?” The officer inquired.

“Not necessarily. I have arranged to have a message sent to the organizers saying the Prime Minister is coming, but will arrive after the first course is served, just as the main meal. SO until they are placing the baked fish dinners onto people’s tables they won’t think any more of it. That will allow us to monitor the security measures we have had put in place. They don’t know it down there, but the place is wired for sight and sound,” Gerarson put on an alarming grin.

Ka had taken his place in the church. Helena was pacing up and down in the vestry. She was very worried about this. She was beginning to realize that she would still be at the beck and call of others. She opened the vestry door and peered out through a crack. Suddenly the back of a man’s head made her start. And the sight of a big bald head of the man next to him made Helena almost faint. Even from behind, she knew them.

They were Carlo, Big Tony and Mikhael and beside them was Sarah.

“My God,” She whispered bitterly. “I am still in their web”

Helena was not hysterical. She tried to find a door that would lead directly outside, but they were locked. She though of just walking out of the vestry door and turning right and running, but she noticed a big man in a black suit watching her and knew it was a security guard.

A man entered the vestry. He was the priest for the wedding, or so Helena, and the guard who saw him enter, assumed.

“Hello Helena, are we ready?” The priest asked brightly.

“AH,….. well… Father… I……” Helena hesitated.

“My name is Fr Sean, by the way. Now listen. You are nervous…. I shall turn on some music to relax you.” the priest switched on a tape machine and rhythmic music filled the vestry. “I find dance can be so relaxing. Would you mind doing the tango with me, something completely ridiculous, just to relax your anxiety……….”

Sarah Wagenknecht, a highly respected minister dressed in a blue that seemend almost black was wondering what was taking Helena so long. She went to the vestry and was surprised to see a priests stole lying crumpled outside the door of the vestry.

Sarah looked inside and stifled a scream. There lying on the floor was the body of Helena. Sarah was heartless in her reaction. “They have ruined everything.” She felt for a pulse. There was none. Helena was dead. Sarah took her phone and spoke rapidly. “Our bride is dead. Now what do we do? Really, a second. Can we pass her off as the same lady? Well, now that you mention it, no one has met Helena so why not. What is this new lady’s name?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was a husky alto. “Gina was a lady we abducted much like Helena. She has been a prisoner waiting for our plans and now she can be the backup.”

Inspector Gerarson was listening into the conversation in the Vestry. he was amazed. He had unwittingly overheard about the plan to use diplomats as a cover for illegal movement of goods through different countries. This was a bonus. He was just about to send his men in to find out what the commotion was in the vestry, but he now knew that the Tango poisoner had struck again. He called his men to go in.

When Carlo, Tony and the rest saw the police running towards everyone,m they knew the game was up. They ran for their lives, knocking chairs and people over to cause maximum confusion. They began shooting with guns they had smuggled into the church via their own security guards.

In the confusion, Gina, looked down at the stray dog that had run for cover in the vestry, where she cowered, beside the blanket-covered body of Helena. The dog looked terrified. Suddenly, she saw the shape of a man rushing towards her, reflected in Inu'st eyes. She leapt aside and he went crashing into the bookcase behind. This 'backup bride' was able to use this momentary delay to break free of her captors and run into the confusion.

She rushed over to the church hall and knocked over the caterer who was carrying trays of fish to the table. He was about to yell at her, not realizing what was happening next door in the church (he assumed it was fireworks) when he exclaimed: Gina, It’s you> I …… I thought you were dead????

“Mark? Gina screamed. "I ….. what are you doing here…. I am saved. “

“Gina, what happened. Where have you been?” Mark said delirious with joy.

“You won’t believe it. I have been held a slave by this disgusting group of lowlives. How did you know I was here? “ Gina asked.

“I didn’t,” Mark said. I am the caterer. They loved my fish so much, I was doing the main meals.”

Sara reached over and kissed him, while in the background, the bodies of carlo and Tony and Sarah were being carried out of the church. No last rites for them this day.

Mark smiled as he knew that his first love, even over the ‘ones that got away’ was back with him again. “Thank goodness for that kiss. I was fishing for compliments all night.”

[edit] Epilogue -

James placed his pen back on the desk and surveyed the result.

"But, what was the Genesis project, Jimmy?" Walry asked scratching his head.

James smiled. "Well, Walry, in the beginning there was only the word, and everything, absolutely everything flows from the power of the word."

"But," Walry objected, "I have read fucking sections of it. It jumps around all over the place."

James smiled as a monk. After a short time he nodded eagerly at Walry. "I've got it. I can only explain what it means by way of an analogy, because the meaning is in some ways beyond words, primordial. Let me explain by saying this." He paused. "Have you ever been driving along at night and suddenly you see at the side of the road a person standing there waiting to cross? You put on the brakes and then as you fucking approach you realise it is not a person at all, but just a tree. But in the light, in the distance, you could swear that this was a living, breathing human being..."

Walry looked blank.

"Well," Big James said with a wild sweeping gesture, holding up the pages of his manuscript; a manuscript that defied defintion and genre. "Behold, this is my tree at the side of the road." The behemoth plopped open, revealing a random page of no significance.

Walry didn't comprehend, perhaps he never would. "What?," he said, squinting his eyes as leaned forward, inches away from its surface. You mean this cum stain here at the bottom of page 142, right below the passage about Sahra Wagenknecht?"

James snatched the manuscript away from Walry, apparently embarrassed. No, James thought to himself. Walry was like a painter that had failed to take a few steps back, to see the whole picture, as it were. A general lack of perspective.

The work was like an ugly child, James, like its mother, and Walry, like the gawking eyes of a pathetic voyeur with melophobia.

James had a strange sense of satisfaction about his finished work, if one could ever call it 'finished.' It may not have made much sense, but he enjoyed writing it. He hesitated for a moment and wondered if he should go back and add some deep and meaningful subtext that spoke of the nobility of the human condition. The thing is, that there is a mysterious beauty to a collection of random and only-obtusely connected themes and chapters. For, the great thing about humans, James thought, is that they are, above all else 'creator of meaning'.

Walry objected: "But it doesn't make any bloody sense."

James loved this moment. "Well, I suppose I could just take a hammer to all the pieces of text and wildly connect them together and MAKE THEM into a logical flowing piece of crap. After all, that is all Virginia Woolf did with Mrs Dalloway, and she's regarded as the nemesis of Literature."

James face was becoming redder than normal, (he was having one of THOSE moments again). "What does it mean for something to "make sense" anyway? Maybe it should be our prime mission, to strive to ensure, (above all things), that we can NEVER be accused of "making sense" just so our audience can sleep soundly tonight, cosy and comfy. Unchallenged."

It is as if humans exist to keep finding patterns and meaning in even the most random of sequences, thoughts and scenes. These disparate thoughts that James had penned down randomly, as different ideas came to him; some mysterious, some sad, some hilarious, stand as a fragile testament to the fucking human condition. "After all, is not the world a collection of individuals who engage together in the great dialogue that is human significance and community." Then everything crumpled up.