Authors: Vasily Klyukin
In
his office in Paris, Pellegrini one more time leafed through the materials from
the scene of the incident and the interviews with witnesses. In the report
drawn up by the UNICOMA accounting department he saw that the computer had to
be replaced and could not be repaired because some parts were missing. The computer
had been written off as a loss as a result of the terrorist attack.
“A
smashed monitor and keyboard with missing parts.” Pellegrini was delighted:
something had been lost after all! He could take another trip, an excellent
pretext for a little more time by the sea at government expense. But the most
important thing was that new details had surfaced and he needed to know what
parts of the computer had disappeared. This nagging little point had to be
clarified, didn’t it?
When
Pellegrini showed up at the UNICOMA office again, he was greeted with open arms
like an old friend. When he asked bluntly which parts were missing from the
damaged computer, no one knew the answer. The only person with that information
was the system manager Simon Droit, and this was the third day that he hadn’t
been at work.
“The
fact is he’s taking treatment for cancer,” one of his female colleagues
explained.
“For
cancer?” Pellegrini was surprised. “And he’s been away for three days? I happen
to know that cancer is treated with by a course of pills and no sick leave is
required. One of my subordinates had the treatment last year.”
“Yes,
that’s if you go to the doctor immediately but Simon dragged things out too
long, so now he had to take a sick leave. We told him to go to the doctor and
get a prescription but he kept saying: ‘I’m not going until I kill Trot’.”
“Kill
Trot?” Pellegrini repeated, alarmed. “I beg your pardon?”
“He
was playing an online game World of the Worlds…or something like that and he
had this sworn enemy, Trot,” Simon’s female colleague informed the commissioner
only too eagerly, and from all the details she knew Pellegrini realized that
she had a yen for the person she was talking about. Or else she happened to
play this game too.
Eventually
they managed to get the administrator on the phone and Pellegrini explained to
him that he was investigating the terrorist attack and would like to know what
part was missing from the smashed computer.
“The
board was smashed and a large piece was missing. I could have just ordered a
new monitor and a case but I had to replace the machine completely because of
that board,” the system administrator replied blandly.
“So
it was a board?”
“Yes,
the base board. They used to call them mother boards. That was because the
daughter boards were attached to it.”
Pellegrini
realized that now he would have to survive a flood of unnecessary information
from a man who didn’t have anyone to talk to about the things that interested
him, so he preferred to say goodbye.
After
lunch he had a talk with Pierre, the young man who was injured, who didn’t add
anything new. The last was the retired army man, who had downloaded his energy
and lived not far away at the other side of Menton. He answered all the
questions docilely, without displaying the slightest interest in the
commissioner. Pellegrini wasn’t able to question the woman, she was away, and
there was no point in questioning Isaac Leroy: the report had mentioned his
sister’s operation, and his motives were crystal clear.
Pellegrini
arrived back in Paris from Monaco, finally closed the case and sent the
materials of the investigation to the archive. The last thing he needed now was
for the trifling trips he had made to surface in an audit.
When
the friends got back from London, they suddenly found themselves at a big
party. True to his style, Wolanski arranged another surprise. Although he had
not planned on returning home before he received his inheritance, he came back
after all and organized a party for his own birthday. There were lots of people
at the villa and the guests drank and made merry to good music. Isaac and Bikie
were pleasantly surprised – Peter had turned out to be less cautious than they
thought at first.
Their
host greeted them like old friends. Isaac apologized because they didn’t have a
present, adding that they simply hadn’t been expecting to see Peter here and
they wouldn’t like to cause him any trouble.
“No
problem but I do have a present for you. You’ll see it later,” Peter said with
a mysterious smile. “I thought about the security aspect and it’s fine, I’m not
taking any risks. Formally speaking there’s a month or a month and a half left
until I get my inheritance – or a couple of weeks, if I’m lucky. I decided to
celebrate my birthday, even though you are living here. To be honest, after
Amsterdam, I miss our little group more and more. I didn’t feel like
celebrating without you so I decided to come back, get a few friends over and
hold a party. Go change and join in.”
The
guys dumped their things, took a quick shower and joined the other guests, who
gathered around the pool. A zany old DJ was playing music, which sounded
different from the modern stuff. It was obviously the choice of a veteran of
the underground, not some disc from the UNICOMA music label. It was like Isaac’s
good old student days, apart from the fact that the party was happening at a
super-cool villa.
Isaac
scanned the guests. An interesting crowd mostly from rich families with none of
the Veggies. People who had enough money for the good life were in no hurry to
sell their creativity although lots of people who used to be rich had gone bust
together with their companies when they couldn’t compete with UNICOMA.
There
were a lot of beautiful girls, all dressed very elegantly, not flashily. All
were sleek, well-groomed, with lovely slim figures.
Maybe
they weren’t big fans of all the latest innovations, but they definitely used
the new generation of creams and other personal care products.
Isaac
sipped champagne out of a fancy glass, enjoying himself as he strolled among
these representatives of high society. He met a well-known TV presenter, a few
girls who were famous models, and Peter and Sandrine were sitting right there,
surrounded by their friends. When Peter spotted Isaac, he started making
gestures that were hard to understand. Isaac eventually realized that Peter was
pointing out someone sitting over to one side, behind the DJ’s console. Isaac
set off in the direction indicated, but he couldn’t make out who was there
through the flashing of the light organ. When he got closer, he realized what
the “present” was that Peter set up for him. He had invited Michelle Blanche.
Isaac
was totally delighted. If only there were more Peters in this life! He turned
back towards the birthday boy’s table and gave him a big thumbs-up sign! Peter
smiled and replied with the same gesture.
Michelle
was very beautiful with her hair gathered into a simple ponytail, the minimum
of makeup and just a touch of lipstick on her plump lips. Small earrings with
no watch or bracelets. The modest, short little black dress exposed her sharp
little knees. Her outfit was completed by lacquered sandals with high heels.
Everything seemingly so restrained, but she looked stunning.
“HI
Michelle! It seems that this semi-darkness adds some mystique to your beauty,
mind if I join you?” Having drunk a glass of champagne after his journey, Isaac
was in exactly the right condition – not yet drunk, but already feeling
confident.
“Hi
there! No, I don’t. How are you getting on, Isaac?” Michelle moved from the
center of the sofa to one side, so that Isaac could sit down.
“I’m
good. Everything’s going fine,” Isaac said and kissed the girl on both cheeks.
He pointed to Michelle’s almost empty glass. “Maybe I could bring you another
juice?”
“Yes
please, only instead of juice, bring me a Bellini.”
“How
about I bring you a different cocktail? You’ll like it. It’s based on champagne
too. I’m an ex-barman after all, and I have cocktails that I invented myself.”
“Alright,
but only if it’s not too strong.”
“Well,
they are just a little bit strong, but one or two won’t cause any problems.”
Isaac
came back carrying two at once: one was of a bright golden color and the other
hand a bronze shimmer to it.
Michelle
tried the golden one first.
“Whoa,
that tastes good! What’s in it? Wait, let me guess… Champagne, that’s clear
enough. Something orangey and maybe something with coffee?” she added, and then
sniffed the second glass: “And this one smells of coconut.”
“I
won’t tell you the ingredients, or you won’t drink it! But you’ve guessed most
of the smells,” said Isaac, smiling. He was dying to boast about the recipe he
had invented, but restrained himself. . “I’ll tell you, but first let’s see if
you can figure it out yourself.”
“Well,
the coconut flavor is clear enough. It’s Malibu. I’ll have another think about
the rest. So you don’t just invent cunning little devices, but cocktails as
well?” Michelle asked with a disarming smile.
“How
do you know that I’m an inventor?”
“Peter
told me. He said he had a pair of interesting characters living at his place,
talented inventors. He said one them was an avid biker, and I’d seen the other
one a couple of times. It was obviously you he meant.”
Isaac
flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. It was a good thing Peter hadn’t
introduced them as caretakers keeping an eye on his house.
“Yes,
I’m an inventor.” That had a proud ring, and Isaac thrust out his chest. “And
what do you do?”
“I
wanted to be a designer. I was pretty good at it, and I developed a few fairly
promising concepts. Unfortunately it didn’t grow into a business; it’s more of
a hobby.”
“Why?”
“UNICOMA.
They turn out excellent design concepts for quite low prices. It’s hard to
compete with them. It’s possible, but the market has slumped badly. There’s no
financial motivation. It would be more accurate just to say I do creative
work.”
“That’s
not so very terrible for you; after all you’re fairly…”
“Rich?”
“Well,
yes. Well-fixed, you don’t need money all that badly.”
“Not
strictly for financial reasons no, but when your ideas die without ever being
born, it’s painful. I want to show what I can do. Show that I’m not just…”
“Devastatingly
beautiful,” Isaac put in.
“Thank
you. To show that I’m not just another pretty face. Apart from a diploma in
design I got top marks in many exact sciences.”
“Oh!
Heavy! I remember you have a high creativity quotient, but exact sciences –
that’s even heavier.”
“But
how do you know Peter? Quite an unusual person you are. Peter is no fool
either, your friend is an inventor, and so are you. You came bouncing up to me
that time with some kind of slogans. You surrounded yourself with creative
people. Have you got a special nose for them?”
“Something
like that. People like that fascinate me.”
Narrowing
her lids, Michelle examined Isaac, finished her cocktail, put the glass down on
the table and said in an affectedly stern voice:
“Now,
tell me what you’ve dosed me with…some kind of love potion?”
“Almost.
Unfortunately it’s just Brut champagne with Malibu and Cointreau in it.”
“Delicious.
Champagne and liqueurs. You villain! And what is it called?”
“Lucky
Blonde.”
“Ohhhh,
is your girlfriend a blonde?”
“No,
no,” he protested. “I haven’t got a girlfriend, it’s just a name. I thought it
sounded nice!” he said, deciding not to mention that he really had named the
cocktail in honor of Anna, his undivided university love. Her name on Instagram
was luckyblonde, so he chose it as the title of his creation.
“You’re
lying. Even in the dark I can see that you just lied. So you’re a romantic
too?” Isaac’s cocktail tasted great, it had a nice color, and besides all that
it went straight to your head from the very first glass. Michelle was no
exception, she was joking and smiling.
“And
the second one,” said Isaac, primly deciding to change the subject, “is called
‘Star Bridge’. It’s champagne too, with Amaretto and Grand Marnier. Like a
bridge to the stars. Those ones up there,” he said pointing to the sky.
Michelle
looked up too, at the pure black sky, spangled with bright stars.
It
wasn’t cold at all, but Isaac shivered, moved closer to Michelle and took hold
of her hand. She didn’t object, on the contrary, she put her head on his
shoulder.
Everything
was going so well, but then up walked Bikie and Peter, two moment killers.
“Damn
you to hell, Bikie, can’t you guys see you’ve picked the wrong moment?” thought
Isaac. But the moment had been lost. Bikie had lugged over four glasses of
champagne.
“I
want to propose a toast to Peter. He’s a true character! Alive and natural, not
some kind of a fake. You are young, and you’re only just at the beginning of
your road, so don’t turn off it! Happy Birthday, as they say. Happy in the good
sense of the word! Dammit, what a fine word they’ve ruined!” Bikie screwed up
his face theatrically and everyone laughed.