Young Offender, Part 51:
Albert picked up his daily copy of a mid-November's Tages-Anzeiger and spread it over his weekly copy of The New York Times. Both rested on his read copy of The Timaru Herald. He still had the Folha de to read, but he'd put that off until he got to work the next morning. He had learned to save anything remotely mentally stimulating for the November through April ski season stretch he spent in the snow packed remote Alps mountain top at the rescue station.
After all, there were only so many rounds of Solitaire he could play or books he could take with him over his six months' stay in the isolated, Alpine mountains. Gertrude, his St. Bernard, wasn't much on conversation, but she did like to try to curl up and sleep on his lap. He smiled to himself, thinking about how much she'd love to be in the mountains again and outside of the cityscape of Bern. Also, away from Jet, but that was a long story.
He glanced at his wrist watch, slightly annoyed. It was closing in on five in the morning. Granted, it was the close of Jet's work season, but Albert was starting his work season. They needed to trade information about Francoise's homecoming schedule and their annual meeting with Gilmore and the other scientists. He rolled up the newspaper and smacked it in his open, left palm. He only had three more hours before he had to travel the treacherous roads.
He tossed the newspaper aside and checked the sheet of paper tacked to the refrigerator in their Swiss chalet. Francoise wouldn't be back until the second of February, which was the end of her ballet season. He knew Jet wouldn't forget that date, that being Jet's birthday. Especially, since Francoise always made him a birthday cake. Albert wouldn't be back until mid-April, which was the end of the ski season.
Jet had always been faithful picking up Francoise since his job centered around summer and autumn. Summer days were the only time the three cyborgs spent together, anymore. They had grown extremely busy over the last ten, peaceful years finding other careers and hobbies. Albert accepted the lack of Black Ghost in their lives, gradually, and trepidation had since subsided in his mind.
He paced for a few minutes. The cuckoo hooted five times at the same time Albert heard their car pull up. Relief filled Albert when Jet finally stumbled through the front door, exhausted. He smirked when Jet collapsed on their sofa in front of the fireplace without a word. The whole first floor had the kitchen, den, and dining room open to each other. Francoise's room was off to the left and the bathroom off to the right. The place where Jet should have flopped down was in the open air loft that he and Albert had split, as was their lot for the last decade in Switzerland.
There were several reasons they finally settled in Switzerland, in spite of it being Jet's whim. It was the most practical choice they could have ever made. Switzerland had French, Italian, and German as official languages, so they blended more naturally there than any other country. Jet, after so many years, had adopted a flawless Italian tone to his language that was indistinguishable to anyone besides Albert and Francoise.
Also, the countryside was vast, mountainous, and had privacy. They found moments where they could relax for longer and longer periods of time. Plus, they'd stolen significant amounts of money and resources from the Black Ghost over the decade. They stored the resources with the scientists in Sicily and the money in the Swiss banking system.
"Breakfast?" Albert started to get a pot down from the kitchen.
"Al, you'd be my hero if you brought me food right now," Jet mumbled, eyes sealed.
"While I'm at work, you need to stay indoors, or keep quiet about being an American."
Jet propped up on his elbow, looking distinctly annoyed. "It's that stupid thing in Greece? Still going on?"
"The Athens Polytechnic uprising is still happening. And yes, it's escalated into bloodshed this morning, so stay in and play up your Italian heritage while I'm gone. It may be miles away, but there is certainly an anti-American feeling around the world," Albert warned, as he started some oatmeal.
"I know, I know," Jet said, waving a hand in the air. "Wonder if the Black Ghost is behind some of the things going on. So much crap going on."
"Hard to say. They're not finished with what they're trying to accomplish, according to Dressler's last report. Maybe we'll go look around Greece this coming summer."
"Maybe." Jet hopped off the sofa and peeled off his black suit jacket and loosened his scarlet tie. Albert picked up Jet's jacket from the floor after handing the younger man a bowl of oatmeal. He brushed it out and smirked at the named tag: Gianni Alessandro Licursi, Grand Casino Basel: Pit Boss. "Don't you dare start up again."
"Now, Gianni..."
"That! I warned you! I love the winter because I don't have to go by that crappy name. Just don't like how empty the house is."
Albert smirked, knowing that was as close to an "I'll really miss you" from Jet he'd hear; he tossed the jacket over a chair. "Well, I'm all packed and ready to go, so you won't hear anything from me for a while."
"I know. Wish you would find some other job in town. Two months of Francoise's nagging..."
"She's mellowed out over the years. You're just complaining to complain."
"Aw... come on..." Jet sighed and then finished his oatmeal.
"Hey, your birthday and Christmas gifts are beside Francoise's. And this time, could you at least wait until I drive to the end of the lane?"
"She ratted me out, hun?"
"Yeap," Albert said with a smirk.
"Well, why don't you let me open one of them before you leave?" Jet badgered.
Albert about blew him off, again, like every year, but he remembered Jet's birthday gift. He admitted he'd like to see Jet open that particular gift. "Fine. It's the blue wrapped gift. Your birthday."
"Woo, hoo! I got my way," Jet gloated as he picked up the appropriate one among the four gifts on the hearth of the fireplace. He tore the wrapping off and yanked the small box lid open. Jet froze and smiled slowly. "I don't know what to say, except, thanks, Albert."
It was a round, gold pendant with the letters 'J. L.' engraved on it; on the other side was engraved a sleek, stylized jet plane. Albert was pleased, watching Jet put the necklace on right away. At first he wasn't sure about the gift, but Jet was getting depressed, feeling as if he'd lost part of his identity by not using his nickname any longer, except at home. Albert hoped this would cheer him up some.
"I'm glad you like it," Albert said, but the phone jangled at his last word. He turned and picked up the receiver.
"Heinrich Stoeller here," Albert answered, using his own assumed name.
"Gilmore here. I wanted to touch base with you," the Jewish scientist replied.
"We're doing well. Francoise is still on tour, and I'm about to go to the rescue station."
"This upcoming April, you, Francoise, and Jet need to come back to Sicily for a while."
"Oh?"
"Yes. We'll finally be ready to attempt curing Ivan."
"That's fantastic!" Albert said.
Jet perked up and shouted out, "What's fantastic?"
Albert turned and said, "They're ready to fix Ivan. Almost. April."
"Cool," Jet said, perking up.
Albert turned his attention back to the phone and asked, "Is there anything we need to do?"
"That is why I am calling. There is something we need you cyborgs to acquire."
"Sure. Name it," Albert said, knowing Gilmore meant steal rather than aquire.
"When we meet in April, I'll give you details. Make it the twenty-first."
"We'll be there," Albert said and then hung up the phone. He turned to Jet, who was now stretched out on the sofa. "We'll have a mission when we go."
"Good. I'm bored being a pit boss, and I'll be stir crazy by the time you get back. I really need a new career, something with some bite to it?" Jet then propped up on his elbow. "I'll call Frannie when you're gone and let her know."
"About Ivan?"
"Yeah, she'll be thrilled. You know, it'll be nice to have him back. It seems like forever," Jet said. "We all owe him, big time."
"I know." Albert bundled up and grabbed his large suitcase. "Don't get into any trouble without me."
"Mother," Ryu Kitagawa addressed the tall woman waiting in his deceased father's study. He gave her a respectful bow of his head. The look of scorn on her graceful face caused him to keep his eyes lowered to the ground. He took a deep breath of the pine scented air, knowing the castigation he was about to receive.
"Your years of college have been a colossal waste of your father's money."
"Is that why you called me home early during the winter break? I'm at the top of my class with one more semester before graduation. Just one, Mother."
"I didn't send you to Oxford to harass English girls, drink, and spend time in and out of jail," Hitomi said, pointedly. "It's what you do out of the classroom that is disturbing. It goes against what I taught you about maintaining a clean face for the public. This last fiasco with a girl has cost me a considerable sum of money to cover up and keep it out of the tabloids." Ryu's face blazed hot. Not for the shame of ruining a high school girl's life with his reckless, devious urges, but for the inconvenience he brought on his mother.
His mother's movie star legend had afforded him many privileges. He swore to do better by her and keep his activities better concealed. "Like I wrote you in the letter, you'll be transferring to Tokyo in preparation for your impending duties in the family businesses."
He knew better then to protest or argue; his mother didn't tolerate disobedience in the least. He nodded, knowing she referred to his deceased uncle's business venture in electronics.
"Besides being my eyes and ears at Shimamura Electronics, you'll be accompanying me to Ghost Island from now on."
He repressed a gasp and dared to raise his eyes to meet his mother's. She sat on the cordovan leather sofa. She didn't invite him to sit, so he remained formal and waited for her to speak again.
"You see, one day you'll also inherit everything your father and I have cultivated with the Merchants of Death. Shimamura business can be controlled through your cousin when he gets old enough. The really valuable piece of the family business I want you to concentrate on is our dealings with the Merchants of Death. It's time you've learned more about them and what they do."
"Mother, you've only mentioned them in passing. Aren't they only an occasional concern of yours? I thought it was the Shimamura business that was your concern."
"It's time you take a serious interest in what the Merchants of Death do and put aside your childish pursuits."
"As you wish," he said hoping his sulking didn't come across, but he knew him mother would pick up on it. She was such a talented actress she could spot when others were putting on an act.
The door to the study opened and the shout of, "Ryu," filled the stifling room.
He turned around and smiled brightly at his eleven-year-old cousin. "Is that you, Akira Shimamura? You're looking so tall, now. I hardly recognized you."
The little boy laughed and said, "I'm glad you're home now. Auntie said you're going to stay now."
"It seems so."
Akira let out a cheer of delight. The little boy froze and grew silent when Hitomi called his name faintly. He then stood demurely in front of Hitomi. "My apology, Auntie."
"Akira, go finish your lesson. I have something else to discuss with your cousin. You two can spend time together after dinner."
"Yes, Auntie," Akira said and scampered off quickly. She turned back to Ryu. "The next meeting of the Merchants of Death will be held in April. In the meanwhile, you're to acclimate in the electronics business. Electronic engineering is what I sent you to school for."
"Yes, Mother."
"I also want to tell you about a goal you have." She waved her had towards the other end of the sofa, and Ryu sat quickly. "When you were a little younger than Akira, your father made a fatal error and the Merchants of Death were almost exposed. It was soon after that your uncle made a similar mistake. That's what lead to his death as well. You see they both were trying to recapture the Double Zero Cyborgs, but they overreached."
"What? But I thought Father died of heart failure, and Uncle Takuma died of a plane accident. At least that's what you told me and Akira."
"It's time you know the truth, and it's time you use that truth to leverage yourself into a powerful position among the Merchants of Death."
"Tell me what to do, Mother."
"Learn. Make Shimamura Electronics profitable. The more money and technology we can supply the Merchants, the quicker the Black Ghost organization can get back to their research. Also, if you ever find a way to deliver the Double Zero Cyborgs back to the Black Ghost, you must. It's their fault you have no father."
Rage slowly bubbled up in his chest. "Tell me about them, so I can destroy them."
"Destroy? No. Punish them by sending them back to the Black Ghost. I'll tell you more about them over lunch tomorrow and what they did to our family."
To be continued.