Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
One day till the Global Unveiling of Bluetannia: Amanda and Brigid sat in her office and watched the pundits from ITV discuss the Prime Minister’s speech of the previous day in Chelmsford as well as the speech coming that day. Amanda fidgeted in her chair. Her eyes shifted between the TV, the landline phone and his own cell phone as the news readers talked.
“She’s late,” she said, tapping one foot nervously. “She wasn’t late yesterday or the day before.”
“Do not worry, my friend. She will call.” Brigid leaned back in her leather chair and checked her watch. “My guess is she is finding a suitable place of cover before she rings.”
Her phone rang a few seconds later inside her purse. She stood up and smiled, pulling it out. “I was just talking about you!”
“My apologies for not calling,” said Ghede from a road outside of Chelmsford. “I’ve been a little on edge since I saw Charon who is in the body of the Prime Minister.”
Brigid raised a curious eyebrow. “What happened?”
“I flashed on something inside his head,” she reached into her coat and pulled out her notepad.
“What did you see?”
“It was a set of images,” Ghede replied, looking over the notes to help her recall the information. “Music, random conversation, and the like. I could tell it was a café though by the sign of the window and the smell of cacao beans in the air.
“The only thing that stood out,” she added, “Was the image of a stainless steel suitcase lying on a table.”
Brigid walked around the side of the desk, taking in the information. “What does a café and a suitcase have to do with Bluetannia?”
“I have no idea yet,” Ghede said. “I can guess who the owner of that suitcase is though.”
“That’s all that it is right now, Ghede,” Brigid retorted forcefully. “A guess. At least until we see him holding the suitcase.”
Amanda stared out the window silently. Brigid looked over at Amanda curiously for a brief moment before returning to the conversation. “Was there anything about the suitcase that stuck out,” she moved toward the bookcase. “A name, a unique carving perhaps?”
Ghede looked down at her notepad and shook her head. “Nothing, just a large slab of metal.”
Brigid sighed. “Call back tonight once you’re on your way to Colchester.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Hopefully fortune will be kinder to us and provide us a way to avoid the path to destruction,” she added. “Otherwise—”
“We fight.” Ghede pocketed the notepad back inside her coat. “If, Gods forbid, that is what happens, I want to say…there is no one I would more want by my side than you, mon capitáin.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Brigid grinned as she walked back to her desk. “Till next we see one another, cara sean.”
Brigid hung up the phone and walked to the window. She stood staring out, freeing Amanda from her pondering state. “What did she say?” Ms. Duncan asked.
“I will tell you later, Ms. Duncan.” She moved back to her desk and turned her focus squarely on Amanda. “Right now, I am curious to know what’s going on in your head.”
Amanda felt blindsided by the question. “But I already told you everything about the dream that I remember. What else could you possibly want to know?”
Brigid sat on the edge of the desk. “There are things that sometimes slip our mind at first grasp. All it takes is a spark to bring them back to the fore.”
“When Ghede was talking on the phone, I noted that you were looking out the window deep in thought.” She added, leaned toward Amanda. “What were you thinking about?”
After a brief hesitation, Amanda cleared her throat and spoke. “Well, when I heard about the suitcase, I…I think I have an idea what café Ghede saw.”
“Yes?”
Amanda cleared her throat again and looked down at the edge of the desk. “I was walking down a street that was completely covered in blue light,” she said. “It looked like a scene from a disaster movie. Burning cars, smoke in the air, abandoned—”
“Please speed this up, Ms. Duncan,” Brigid groaned. “I am not looking for an oral recitation of a Dino di Laurentis film.”
“Right, sorry,” Amanda fidgeted in her leather chair a second before continuing. “I approached an Audi that was crashed into the side of a boutique. As I did, I noticed something on the ground beside it.”
“What did you see?”
“A lot of the window was damaged,” said Amanda with some hesitation. “But for sure I saw the word ‘café’ on it.”
“Okay,” Brigid said, walking toward her bookcase. “It is not much, but it is something to build from.”
Amanda stood up from her chair. “But there must be dozens of cafés in London,” she said. “That’s a hell of a lot of ground to cover. We only have a day.”
“Isn’t that why humans created Google?” Brigid quipped. She walked back to her desk and typed something into her computer. She then picked up her purse and walked out. Amanda quickly followed out, grabbing the door inches before it closed
They stopped at the printer in the Bullpen. Brigid grabbed the pieces of paper and made their way out to the afternoon traffic. She took her Molltach out of her purse, placing it on the street while making sure no one was looking. The two of them watched as it transformed into a lime green Fiat 500. Once it finished, she walked toward the driver’s side door.
“I thought you were a Lamborghini woman,” Amanda said as he moved toward the passenger side door.
“Different automobiles, different needs,” she replied, climbing in behind the wheel. “Besides, Lamborghinis are rubbish in the City.”
***
They arrived fifteen minutes later at the first café on the list: the Hard Rock Café on Old Park Lane. The two went inside. The manager of the establishment was a stout bald man. He wore jeans and a white buttoned up shirt with the logo of the Hard Rock on his chest. He burst out in a deep laughter seconds after they explained who they were.
The same thing happened to them at the next stop, the Rainforest Café located on Shaftesbury Avenue. The manager, April, listened intently as Brigid crafted a cover story that involved them doing research for a future piece examining the Chief of Staff’s daily life outside of Downing Street.
“I’m sorry. I would love to help,” she said with her arms at her side. “But unless he’s been here with family for a birthday party, I doubt he’s ever set foot here.”
***
The hours passed as Amanda and Brigid searched every café on their list. Their hopes of success steadily diminished with each new café visited: The Monmouth Coffee Company, Café 2 at Tate Modern, Churchills. Each manager they visited came back with the same response: “Nope, haven’t heard of the guy.”
Amanda tried to keep her spirits up. The sun started to set as they pulled up in front of a café near the city’s Theatre district.
“Nice looking building,” she remarked, looking at the apartment building across the street. “Probably filled with rich banker types.”
Brigid parked the car between an Audi and a Ford. “Hopefully the coffee here is good,” she asked, unbuckling from her seat. “We can use the break to prepare our next move.”
Amanda turned back toward the café. She felt a sudden jolt upon seeing the front window to the Café de Paris. “I’m not sure that we need to.”
“What do you mean?” Brigid said, stepping out of the car.
“This is the place,” Amanda closed the door behind her and walked around the rear of the car. “The one from the dream.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
Amanda looked at Brigid, advancing toward her. “Alright then...no time like the present!” The goddess grinned.
They crossed the street to the café’s entrance. Amanda looked in through the windows and saw the main dining area half filled with people, mostly couples and groups. As they walked inside, she noted a couple of people at the bar reading dog eared copies of Noam Chomsky, George R.R. Martin, and the Hunger Games as they drank out of their rounded coffee cups.
The Smoke Fairies played over the stereo speakers placed high above the lobby as they waited. There was Parisian artwork on the walls. A young lady noticed the two of them and calmly walked over to greet them.
“Welcome to the Café de Paris,” she said with a smile. “How may I help you fine folks?”
“My name is Brigid Olliver, and this is my associate Amanda Duncan.” Brigid gazed around the dining area briefly. “We are from the Guardian. We are hoping to speak to the manager regarding a story for our weekend edition.”
“You're from the Guardian,” said the hostess excitedly. “I love you guys! I read your paper every morning on my Google Reader. Personally, I think the government jacked you with that whole raid nonsense.”
“Thank you for the kind words, miss,” Amanda said, grinning. “But we’re on a bit of a time crunch. So if you could direct us to the manager’s office we’d be very grateful.”
“Of course,” the hostess extended their arm in the direction of his office. “Right this way.”
The hostess walked toward the dining area and Amanda and Brigid following a couple of steps behind. Amanda observed some of the different people at each individual table as they walked. She wondered how many of them knew, or would want to know, how close to potential annihilation they were right now. The three of them navigated past the pay station and ATM machine, stopping at a solid oak door with the words “Charles Cooper” written in white on a glass window.
“Good luck.” The woman smiled, then turned and made her way back to the front of house.
Brigid knocked on the door twice. She waited for a couple of beats, but no one answered.
“Who is it?” a voice from inside groaned.
“My name is Brigid Olliver. This is my colleague Amanda Duncan,” she calmly replied. “We are here from the Guardian.”
“That liberal rag,” the voice said in disgust. “Piss off, you Socialist twats! Get the hell
out of my café before I have Metro drag your sorry arses out!”
“We were hoping for a few minutes of your time, Mr. Cooper,” Amanda said.
“It is in regards to a future piece we are putting together,” Brigid added.
She could sense trepidation and curiosity coming in the pause that followed. A shadowy outline appeared through the glass window. “What’s your piece about?” came the voice again.
“It’s an in-depth piece on Chief of Staff Pearson,” said Amanda. “It’ll give our readers an inside look as to what makes the Conservative wunderkind tick.”
The room went silent for a few moments. “Why the fuck didn’t you say so?!” barked the voice.
There was a faint muttering followed by the sound of desk chairs being rearranged and footsteps coming to the door. It flew open to reveal Charles Coooper, a man in his thirties with a movie star face and a slight beer belly poked through his white dress shirt.
Cooper’s gaze shifted between Amanda and Brigid. “This isn’t going to be another subtle smear job, is it?”
“No, sir,” replied Brigid calmly. “It will be a fair and truthful portrait, no matter how grimy that truth may be.”
An opportunistic grin came across Charles’ face. He moved aside. “Come on in, make yourselves comfortable.”
As Amanda and Brigid crossed the threshold, they were immediately struck by the look of the office, particularly the Parisian look of his desk and furniture which matched the décor of the dining area. Brigid was the first to sit, followed by Amanda. The manager calmly walked around his desk and sat.
Charles laced his fingers and placed them on his stomach. “So…what do you lovely ladies want to know about that greasy little slime ball?”
“Judging by your tone, Mr. Cooper,” Brigid said. “I can guess that he is a frequent customer here.”
“Every bloody morning,” he scoffed. “Though it’d be a stretch to call him a customer. The man never orders a damn thing!”
“That’s odd,” Amanda echoed. “You would think, as much money he’s got, he could afford to spend a few pounds on a coffee.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Charles shook his head in disgust. He leaned forward toward the two reporters. “He comes in, sits down at a table, reads the Daily Mail for an hour and leaves. Some days, he just rummages through his bloody suitcase.”
Amanda turned to Brigid who shared his heightened intrigue. “Was it a stainless steel suitcase by chance?” Brigid inquired further.
Charles leaned back and scratched his head. “I think so.”
“Does he take anything out of it?” Amanda inquired. “Perhaps a scroll or a set of papers.”
“I was too busy wishing the man were dead to give a rat’s ass what he’s got in there,” he stood up and moved about. “I fail to see what that has to do with the story.”
“We’re just looking at all possible angles, sir,” Brigid said. “We feel it’s the best way to create a truly unbiased portrait of the man.”
The manager groaned, turning his attention back to the two reporters. “Well, I did see him pull out a wooden box one time.”
“What was in the box?” Amanda asked.
“No idea. He never opened the thing,” Charles replied. “He just placed it next to the suitcase and went about reading a book or something.”
“Okay. Did you see if the box had any writing on the outside of it?” Brigid asked. “Something in Gaelic perhaps?”
“I never got that great of a look,” he slowly walked back to his chair and sat down. “I figured it was one of those crappy good luck baubles street merchants sell.”
A light bulb flashed over Brigid’s head. “Would you excuse us for a second, Mr. Cooper?”
Brigid stood up and pulled Amanda out of earshot of Mr. Cooper. She leaned over and silently whispered one word in his ear, “Athghiniúna.”
“There's that name again- Athghiniúna,” Amanda whispered back. "Now would be a pretty good time to tell me what the hell an Athghiniúna is."
“It is not an ‘an,’ Ms. Duncan, but a ‘the,’” she replied as the manager looked on curiously. “It is a spell that gives whoever holds it the power to remake the world as they desire. Hearing this human speak, I think that this will be how Lugh will weaponize the Bluetannia.”
“With all due respect, Brigid, what are you basing this on?”
“A hunch, Ms. Duncan,” she replied. “Among other things.”
“I’m guessing these ‘other things’ involve omnipotent beings far beyond my comprehension.”
“What are you two going on about?” the manager interjected, standing again.
Brigid turned and advanced toward the manager. “Just business, Mr. Cooper” she smiled. She extended her hand to shake. “Thank you. We appreciate the time you could spare tonight.”
“Sure, um…glad I could be of service.” He was noticeably confused as he briefly shook her hand. “Was that all?”
“I know it may not seem like much,” Amanda said. “but trust us, you have given us exactly what we had hoped for.”
The two of them exited, leaving Cooper to his work. The dining area had opened up since they came in and the crowd had thinned out. “If Lugh has this Athghiniúna and plans to use it on the Bluetannia,” Amanda said to Brigid, “it’d make sense that he’d do it during the unveiling at Gerry Arthur, right?
“It would seem to be the logical plan,” said Brigid as they reached the edge of the lobby. “Unless—”
She stood in front of the glass entrance door for a few moments. She turned back around to Amanda and grinned as she opened the door. “What?” Amanda asked, following her out.
“It's the doppelganger,” Brigid uttered incredulously, walking out. “Lugh’s using a doppelganger as a public cover so he can recite the Athghiniúna here in London without anyone being the wiser.”
“If he comes here a lot, that means he must live relatively nearby,” said Amanda as they descended the café’s stoop. “We can check that apartment building nearby, barge in and stop him!”
Brigid stopped at the end of the stairs and looked at Amanda, shaking her head. “Why not,” Amanda fired back as they moved toward the car. “This is the perfect time. We can go in now, and take him before he can do this destructive magic.”
“Because he and Charon hold all the power right now,” she replied as a steady rain started to fall. “In government, in the police system. To attack now would be to guarantee the same fate as befell our colleagues.”
Amanda sighed in frustration and wiped rain water from her hair. She grabbed the handle on the passenger’s side door and opened it. “So, what do we do then,” Ms. Dunca said as she slid into the seat. “Wait till he’s strung out in the open?”
“I know it lacks a sense of quick finality, but keep hopeful, my friend,” Brigid said, opening the driver’s side door. “With Ghede by our side, I am certain we will win the day.”
“I hope so, Cap’n.” Amanda smirked, buckling herself in for the ride to come.