Chapter 8
In Which Helga Get Chewed Out, And Gerald Gets Help
When Phoebe woke up the next morning it took her a few minutes to remember why she was on the floor. When she remembered, she sat up, put on her glasses and looked over at her futon, where Helga was sleeping very soundly.
She grinned at the sight of her old friend and got up to make breakfast and tea. It was all she could to do keep from singing as she busied herself around the tiny kitchen. Helga hadn't told her why she had suddenly appeared last night, in fact Phoebe hadn't allowed her to say or do anything except go to bed immediately. But Phoebe knew that when Helga G. Pataki showed up at midnight on a dark and stormy night, it was a sure sign that something exciting was happening. For a moment it had seemed like elementary school again, as if Helga were about to press a giant lizard into her arms or tell her she was sleepwalking to Ar—erm, Ice Cream's house. At that thought, Phoebe let out a giggle.
"Yen for your thoughts." Helga had woken up and was standing in the doorway, wrapped in Phoebe's much-too-small robe. She looked horribly tired, though Phoebe knew she had had at least ten hour's sleep.
"I was just thinking how silly you look in my clothes. Didn't you bring a bag with you?"
Helga smiled slightly. "I'm too lazy to actually get dressed. First I'd have to pick something out, then I'd have to take off my nightgown, then I'd have to put on my clothes…it's just not worth it." She sighed dramatically.
Phoebe rolled her eyes and put a bowl down in front of her friend.
"What's this?" Helga raised an eyebrow at it suspiciously.
"It's called oatmeal, Helga."
"Sure it's not some strange Japanese-type breakfast food?"
"I'm sure." Phoebe started back up the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"To get you some clothes." Phoebe left Helga poking the oatmeal tentatively with her spoon.
Helga's bag had been left in the upstairs bathroom with the remains of her pants suit, as both were totally soaked. Phoebe rummaged through it and found some jeans and a pink t-shirt that looked like it had been thrown in as an afterthought. She shook her head at the obvious lack of packing skills, and had turned to go downstairs when she saw that Helga's jacket had fallen off the shower curtain rod and was crumpled in a heap on the floor.
It'll never dry that way, she thought and automatically reached to pick it up. Her hand closed around something small and hard.
Helga was trying to relax. She wasn't quite sure what she was doing here, only she knew that she needed to be somewhere safe. And she couldn't think of anyone she trusted more than Phoebe.
Oy, may as well get this over with. She reached into the robe pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Ah. One hundred and fifty-two missed calls. Moria had outdone herself. Helga had turned off her cell moments after escaping the Revel, and she had been in no condition to confront Moria last night. She dialed her number and pressed call. The phone rang once, and Moria answered.
"Pataki, you--!" Moria proceeded to colorfully question Helga's parentage.
Apparently, she had caller ID.
When she had paused to take a breath, Helga interjected, "Nice to hear from you too, Moria."
This prompted more exclamations, some of which Helga had never heard before, even from Bob.
"So I take it you got my messages." she prompted at the next break in the steady stream of verbal warfare.
Moria began to run out of English words, and moved on to Spanish to express her feelings.
"I'm ok. Safe and all that, in case you were wondering."
Moria was slipping into a strange combination of German and French. Helga wasn't entirely sure that she was listening.
"You're obviously upset. Perhaps we should discuss this at a later date."
I didn't even know she knew Russian. Helga held the phone away from her ear for a while, then put it back so she could speak.
"Right then. I'll talk to you later, just wanted to check in. You know, just following standard procedure."
Sputterings Douglas Adams and Mother Goose would have been proud of came out of the phone. Helga hung up. That went well.
She leaned over to tuck the phone back into her pocket. When she straightened, Phoebe was standing in front of her.
"Hey great Pheebs, you found my jeans!" She took them and the shirt, then noticed the odd look that she was giving her. Helga blinked.
"What's wrong?"
Phoebe raised her hand so that Helga could see what was inside. It was a tiny glass tube, with a dark liquid inside that looked black, though Helga knew it was green.
Uh oh.
Phoebe walked over and placed the object on the counter. Then she turned to face the blonde.
"Time to start talking, old friend."
**************
Black. Black and cold.
Numbness. Cold and numb. Impossible.
Ship. Cold. Pain. Hurts. Hand hurts. Head hurts.
Everything hurts. Pins and needles. Helga. Where was Helga? A slight feeling of panic hit Gerald, then he realized something else.
Not cold. Hot? No. Warm. Shouldn't be warm. Ocean cold. Where am I? What day is it? He tried to see his watch but couldn't. Arm won't move. Fingers move, but arm won't. Something holding arm. He shook his head and immediately regretted it. At least my head moves. Where am I? It suddenly occurred to him that his eyes were closed. He opened them.
He wasn't in the ocean. Well, that's a start. He was in a room, a warm room with a bed and blankets which he was wrapped in tightly. He wiggled a bit and loosened his arms. His whole body was sore, and his head seemed to be exploding over and over again.
Where was Helga? He lifted his head some and scanned the tiny room. Well she wasn't here, wherever here was. He tried to check his watch again but it had stopped working. Great, the minute I actually start to need her, she disappears. What do I know about fixing watches? He wondered if she had escaped the ship. Then he wondered if he had.
Come on Gerald, think! He remembered falling off the ship, and then the ocean. But he must have hit his head on something after that, because the next thing he remembered was waking up.
He decided to try getting out of bed, but only made it to a sitting position. Better than nothing, but not much good if I'm a prisoner. He sat there with his eyes closed and his back against the wall for a while, and when he opened his eyes again he noticed that there was a screen and a touchpad of some kind on the wall opposite him. Since when do they install ATMs in hospital rooms?
Deciding this required investigation, Gerald slid carefully out of bed and made his way slowly to the wall, where he leaned against it gratefully. It did look very similar to an ATM machine, although the screen was blank and there were no slots for money to appear in. As Gerald stood there wondering what to do next, the screen suddenly lit up and words scrolled across it.
GREETINGS GERALD, it said.
"Um, hello?" he responded before he realized that he should probably type back an answer. It appeared that whoever was typing could hear him, however, because the screen continued flashing words at him.
ARE YOU FEELING BETTER? it asked.
Better than what? Gerald wondered. "I'm ok, I guess." Something about this seemed very familiar to him, though he couldn't figure out why. His head was still hurting.
I GAVE YOU A SLEEPING PILL LAST NIGHT. IT SHOULD WEAR OFF SOON, AND THEN YOUR HEAD WILL FEEL BACK TO NORMAL. YOU HAVE NO BROKEN BONES OR INTERNAL INJURIES. YOU ARE VERY LUCKY I FOUND YOU WHEN I DID.
"When did you find me? Who are you anyway?"
There was a pause, then I AM MR. SMITH appeared.
"Mr. Smith?" Something clicked with Gerald. "Not the Mr. Smith who used to live at Arnold's boarding house years ago?"
Another pause, longer this time. YES.
Well that explains a lot. Gerald remembered Arnold telling him about Mr. Smith for the first time. "Mr. Smith is…private." he had said. So Smith was stationed in New York now. Gerald had known he worked for the CIA for years, but had never heard anything from him since fourth grade. He'd have to mention something to Arnold if he got a chance. The screen continued to scroll words across it.
I WAS WATCHING THE PIER AND SAW YOU AND THE WOMAN YOU WERE WITH ENTER THE SHIP. WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT, I REALIZED SOMETHING WAS WRONG. SO I CAME CLOSER AND HAPPENED TO BE THERE WHEN YOU FELL OFF.
But Gerald hadn't got past the first sentence yet. "You saw Helga? Did she get off the ship? Where is she now?"
I DO NOT KNOW HER CURRENT LOCATION. WHEN THE LIGHTS CAME BACK ON, I SAW HER RUN OFF THE DOCKS.
"And you didn't go after her? She could have been caught, and she was carrying some serious contraband!"
I WOULD HAVE FOLLOWED HER BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN AT THE POSSIBLE COST OF YOUR LIFE.
"Oh. Good choice, then. Um, thanks." Gerald looked towards the floor and tried to think. Ok, so Helga was missing. Best case, she'd already met up with Moria and they were working on the contents of that glass tube right now. Worst case, she was captured or dead, the tube was in the hands of the enemy and the FBI was about to fire his butt for a major fiasco. Suddenly he frowned.
"Hey, where's my clothes?" He was wearing a set of warm flannel pajamas. In plaid, no less. Ugh.
I AM AFRAID THAT YOUR SUIT WAS BEYOND REPAIR. BUT THAT IS THE LEAST OF YOUR CONCERNS. THE PEOPLE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SMUGGLING OPERATION KNOW WHO YOU ARE. YOU MUST STOP THEM BEFORE THEY GET TO YOU. A tray beneath the screen opened and Gerald saw his passport, a document entitled "Report on Activities on and Near Ical Corporation Ships, With Regard to Possible Terrorism, by Mr. Smith", a set of car keys, and a map. Well, he's nothing if not thorough. As Gerald gathered his things, Mr. Smith added, YOU MUST LEAVE NOW.
"Whoa man, I am going nowhere in this getup. Clear?"
Gerald got the feeling that Mr. Smith was sighing somewhere. ENTER CODE 24683, USER ID 33, the screen informed him.
Gerald did so and a panel on the wall slid back. A rack of suits came out and began rotating slowly. Gerald picked one out and checked the label. Just my size even. He smiled and put the suit back.
"Now that's more like it." He rubbed his hands and started to sort through the rack, but stopped himself. Come on Gerald, business before pleasure now. He turned back to the screen.
"Is there a phone around here?" he asked. Another panel slid open and Gerald took the offered cell phone. "Great. I'll just grab a suit and be out of your way. Thanks again. Oh," his head was feeling better, but Gerald knew what he needed to think clearly, "And can I get some coffee?"
*************
The mansion was so huge it should really have been called a palace. Sweeping white arches towered over incredible gardens filled with every kind of tropical flower. A little winding stone path made its way through the greenery and fountains towards the main entrance. And hurrying along that path was a familiar-looking man.
He was wearing a business suit, though it looked as though he had been wearing the same suit for about two days straight, which was more or less accurate. He was sweating profusely as if he wasn't used to the hot and humid climate, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep.
As he reached the entrance, the heavy oak doors swung open on well-oiled hinges to receive him. He entered and turned right, down a long hall filled with tapestries and sunlight. At the end of the hall was a medium-sized room with the door already open, expecting him. He closed the door behind him and stood, waiting. The room was filled with windows, but they were the kind that let you see out, though no one else could see in. They looked out onto the vast gardens and the grounds around them. The room was empty except for a giant mahogany desk, hand carved with various mythological scenes, and a sleek leather high-backed chair behind it. There was one other person in the room that he could see, a very tall man who nodded at him. The chair was facing away from them, and he guessed there was someone in it. A moment later he was proven correct.
"I see you've deigned to report in, Mr. Briteon." came a voice from the chair.
Phil flinched slightly at the sound of his name. He didn't know the man next to him, and wasn't sure he wanted him to know who he was.
"Yes sir."
The chair swung around, revealing a male of average build and shape, with tan skin and long, very dark hair. His face was thrown into shadow by the back of his chair, which was a strange effect in such a well-lighted room. He smiled disarmingly.
"And what, may I ask, happened?"
"It's all in my report sir. Have you read—"
"Of course I read it!", the man in the chair growled, "What I'm asking is how a man of your supposed intelligence let something like this happen!"
Phil took a step back. "Look, I know it looks bad, but I think—"
"Looks bad? Looks bad?" The tall man let out a snort, and the man in the chair continued. "Your entire operation at Ical is finished. You yourself have had to flee. The people responsible are still alive. And a shipment is missing!"
Phil tried defending himself. "I have people tracking Johansson and Pataki down right now. They'll be found soon. And there's no evidence that the shipment was actually in their possession. It wasn't even activated, so for all we know—"
"For all we know," the man interrupted again, "The authorities are surrounding the area this minute, as you have led them so nicely to us."
Phil had no response to that. He glanced around him nervously. "What are you going to do?"
The man suddenly sat back in his chair, and smiled again. "Don't worry, Mr. Briteon. We don't kill people for making the worst mistake of their lives." Phil relaxed visibly, and the man added, "Yet."
"Handle the rest of the shipments. Activate them, just in case. And Mr. Briteon," he said as Phil turned to go, "Make very sure that those two are taken care of. Understood?"
Phil nodded gratefully, and got out of there as fast as he could.
The man in the chair sat still for a moment after the door closed, then he picked up a paperweight on his desk and threw it through a window. It smashed gloriously. He turned to the tall man.
"I suppose you think I'm crazy, Doctor."
The tall man smiled. "Practicing your defenestration skills is hardly an act of insanity. I might do the same thing in your place."
The other man raised an eyebrow. "Let's get down to business."
A/N: Sorry this took extra long to get out, real life interfered this week. I'll try to get the next chapter up by the end of the week…hopefully. And defenestration is a real word, I promise, lol. ~PJ
Jacquleine Schaeffer: Thanks, I've been trying to keep it as realistic as possible. That's why there's an FBI and a CIA agent in pursuit of a biological weapon called Hot Air in the jungles of…ok, well I did say as realistic as *possible*, lol.
Miss Matched: Phoebe smiled! Heck, she almost sang! :)
miss amyami: I updated! Happy? :)
pokey: But if I didn't add a cliffhanger, it wouldn't be as exciting! That and I like torturing those who read this story…wait, did I say that out loud?
Sennical: Hehe, Will Smith as Tall Hair Boy…I like it…and don't worry, Gerald's fine…for now. grin