Let the Music Play - 21. When in Rome

Rushing off the stage after the third encore set, Brandon and his band mates turned and took a last peek through the curtains at the enormous and packed Stadio Olimpico. Brandon looked at the massive tiers bedecked with white marble statues, gleaming in the harsh klieg lighting. He could scarcely believe it; the tour’s last stop in Europe, playing to a sell-out crowd, in a stadium with a capacity of over eighty thousand. They’d done it; the tour was a hit, a success even beyond Helen’s high hopes. The album, once it had shipped, had sales to match the concerts’ successes. They’d come close to breaking some sales records in the U.S. when the album had gone platinum just a few days over the record. This, in spite of their being on tour and out of the country for much of the sales period, was something that even industry analysts considered an enormous achievement. It hadn’t happened by chance; Helen had worked her magic, making sure that the ad campaigns ran, and that the media had sufficient access to keep Instinct in the public’s eye. The TV special that had been filmed during their one break in the U.S. tour, and thus taking up most of the break, had been a ratings smash. Helen was making plans to do another.

To the relief of everyone, and especially their toes, Eric had given up his wheelchair soon after the Salt Lake City concert, progressing from crutches to hobbling short distances, though still encumbered, to his perpetual irritation, by his cast. In truth, Eric had been glad to be rid of the wheelchair, though he secretly missed it at times, especially when he had to walk long distances on crutches, yet his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it openly. He also missed having fun racing around in the wheelchair. For anything more than a short walk, he was still confined to the crutches he was fast growing to hate, though he was happy that his post-concert liaisons with female groupies had not been impeded in the least.

The tour schedule had been hectic, leaving time for little besides a few rushed sightseeing trips. The Shadows had fallen into a friendship with the members of Instinct. Steve, their lead singer, still showed some unease whenever Wilde was around Brandon or Chase, but as everyone in both groups knew what was going on with the sole exception of Steve himself, no one paid any heed to his occasional snits.

Jerry had dropped in for a visit during Instinct’s Berlin appearance, expressing his great relief at Eric’s ongoing recovery, and helping Helen with their plans for the rest of the tour. Helen had also, to Jon and Eric’s silent disgruntlement, handed Jerry their share of the proceeds from the Phoenix concert, as she’d promised to do after they had caused trouble at Jerry’s charity fundraiser in Los Angeles. Barbra had taken a break from the tour, called away to attend her own business interests, though she’d returned two weeks later, just in time for the concert in Rome.

The after-concert party in Rome was planned to occur in their hotel. This had been done at Günter’s insistence due to his displeasure at the security, or rather the lack thereof, at the Stadio Olimpico. With limos waiting and accompanied by a cadre of buxom female groupies, the two bands made ready to leave the stadium. The members of both groups were excited; they’d arrived from Milan just before the concert, and they were about to get their first sight of the Eternal City herself: Rome. Pulling away from the curb, the limos edged into the vicious traffic, heading south towards the distant, floodlit domes of St. Peters as the convoy followed the west bank of the Tiber. Veering away from St. Peters, following the river for another mile, they crossed over the Tiber. At night, there was still much to see, with the Aurelian wall to their right, well lit as they approached the ancient structure, once called the Flaminian gate and now the Porto del Popolo, through which modern traffic surged. Turning right and passing through the ancient and enormous gate, they entered the vast traffic whirlpool of the Piazza del Popolo, passing the Egyptian Obelisk that stood at its center. Turning to the East again, their drivers skirted the Villa Borghese as they made their way towards the Piazza de Spagnia, which sat at the foot of Rome’s famous Spanish Steps. So, too, did their hotel, just a few dozen yards away.

Entering the ornate, marble-covered lobby through revolving glass doors, Brandon and Chase lead the way inside, marveling at the strange mix of old and new that had become the norm for upscale Roman hotels. Bedecked in gleaming white marble and red velvet tapestry and inlays of gold leaf on some of the stonework, the hotel lobby, though small compared with many of the ones he’d seen on the tour, impressed Brandon immensely. “We’ve stayed in a lot of hotels, and they’ve all been pretty spectacular as well as very different,” Brandon said, turning to look at Chase.

The suites turned out to be smaller than they were accustomed to; something they’d found was often the case in European hotels, where space tended to be more efficiently utilized. The suites occupied the third floor, though Brandon and Chase found it hard to think of the fourth floor of the building as the third floor. In Europe, as in much of the world outside of the U.S., the floor above the ground floor was the first floor, not the second as they’d grown up with. They’d also discovered something else unusual in the numbering of floors in the European high-rise hotels they’d stayed at on some of the previous tour stops. Brandon, noticing that the third floor was the top floor in this hotel, turning to look at Chase with a smile he said, “Staying on the thirteenth in Berlin was just plain weird! Lucky I'm not superstitious, but we wouldn’t have that problem here, anyway.”

Eric, they all knew, had been often frustrated throughout the tour by his limited mobility, and this day was no exception as he lagged behind the rest, plodding along on crutches.

Waiting what he considered an acceptable length of time after walking into the suites – nearly three seconds – Eric ordered a supply of alcohol for the evening. With Helen in attendance, he knew he couldn’t get away with tequila, so instead he ordered a few bottles of Italian brandy, along with a few bottles of Bellini, which he’d sampled in Milan along with the Italian brandy. Noting Jon’s evident surprise at his alcohol order, Eric shrugged. “When in Rome,” he said deadpan, followed by a grin.

Jon laughed, before sending in his own order for wine coolers. He discovered, as he had at a few other locations in Europe, wine coolers were often hard to find. Eric butted in to say, “Dude, just try the Bellini. It’s a lot like a wine cooler. It’s a mix of sparkling wine and peach puree. You’ll like it, trust me.” Jon agreed to try it, and added some to his order. Once the rest of the band members had made their choices, Helen added hers for two magnums of French Champagne (in part to celebrate the unemployment of the paparazzi they’d discredited), and the room steward hurried off to fill the requests, wondering how much damage two drunken rock groups could do to the hotel. Not my problem, he decided.

After a few rounds of drinks, everyone seemed to be having a good time, but Eric noticed a couple of exceptions. Drink in hand; Eric made his way over to Wilde. After shooing away a girl who had seemingly glued herself to Wilde’s side, Eric spoke in a low tone for privacy as he asked, “Dude, I can tell, something’s eating you. Have you talked to Steve yet? You said you’d do it before we left Europe, remember?”

Wilde blushed slightly, and began to fidget. “Not yet, but remember, my group is staying in Europe for two weeks for some public relations stuff before we catch up to you guys in Australia.”

Giving Wilde a light tap in the arm with his fist, Eric grinned. “Yeah, we’re leaving the day after tomorrow, but unless I’m here to push you, you’ll chicken out. I know you will. You guys need to talk, and guess what, tonight’s the night.”

Shaking his head, Wilde replied, “Uh, whoa, tonight? I’m not even sure I like Steve that way. Besides, you said talk to him when he’s drunk and he’s not drunk.”

“You’ll never find out unless you talk to him, and anyway, he’s still acting weird when you’re around Brandon and Chase. They know what’s up so they’re cool with it, but come on; you’ve got to do something sometime. You promised. I’ll even help; I’ll go get Steve into a game of quarters for brandy shots.”

Wilde paused for a moment, tempted by the offer. He did want to have a talk with Steve, but he was nervous and grasping at excuses. A convenient example of the latter manifested itself in the form of the blonde who had been glued to his side. He spotted her, standing on the other side of the room and brooding, so he said to Eric, “Hey man, thanks, but I think tonight is shot. Steve and I both have ladies for the night by the look of it, so I won’t get a chance to talk to him alone.”

Always willing to go the extra mile for a friend, Eric grinned. “No problem, dude. I’ll get Steve drunk, then you haul him off to either your suite or his for your chat. I’ll entertain both of your girls for the night, so no worries there.” Eric drove home his point by turning and winking at the girl who had been by Wilde’s side.

“But I thought you and that chick you were with earlier were...” Wilde asked, puzzled for a moment.

Eric strummed his fingers on his bare chest before giving Wilde a self-confident grin. “I can handle three; wouldn’t be the first time. Hey, it’s all for a good cause, right? I’ll just consider it my good deeds for the... night.”

After thinking it over while chuckling at Eric’s bravado, Wilde nodded. “Okay, you win.”

Eric selected a table, cleared it off, and set up some cups and brandy bottles. Then, he zeroed in on his intended victim. “Steve,” Eric hollered, “Get over here. You’ve been challenged, dude.”

Steve, with his girl in tow, joined Eric at the table, happy enough to give the game a try. The first challenge turned out to be finding a suitable coin. “Damn, these fifty Euro-cent coins won’t bounce right,” Eric complained after a few tests. Brandon overheard the remark and after fishing in his pocket, he tossed Eric an American quarter.

With a suitable coin in hand, Eric took it upon himself to take the first shot, sinking it, and forcing Steve to down a large helping of brandy. What Steve didn’t know was that Eric had stacked the deck; Eric took great care to make sure the shots poured for Steve were larger than his own. As things turned out, the subterfuge proved redundant, and Steve missed most of his tries to sink the quarter, though Eric had better luck. Within fifteen minutes, staggering slightly, Steve surrendered his place at the table to Jon.

Seizing the chance, Eric told Wilde, who was already standing next to Steve, “Go sit him down for a few, he’ll be fine, but that brandy has one hell of a kick at first, so he needs somewhere quiet.” Steve considered objecting, but decided that he was having some trouble standing. Besides, he liked spending time with Wilde, so he agreed with a shrug. Steve’s date clung to his side, but Eric solved that issue by brushing up against her, and then, when she looked him in the face, smiling and slowly running his tongue over his upper lip as he wagged his eyebrows.

Steve sealed the deal by telling his date, “I’ll be back later.” Wilde, with his own date already having been subject to Eric’s charms, led Steve from the room, heading for Steve’s suite down the hall. Eric noted with an approving nod that Wilde had taken along a bottle of Bellini.

Barbra and Helen were sitting near Brandon and Chase. Barbra had made the usual possessive gestures when the female groupies had arrived, fulfilling her role as Brandon’s cover ‘girlfriend’ well enough to keep the groupies away from him. Chase, though, still drew plenty of unwanted attention, and only Günter’s looming presence nearby kept them at bay. Günter had figured out Brandon and Chase’s relationship weeks before, and though he had reservations about such things, he felt his job was to protect them in all ways, and so he unreservedly did.

With his mission to get Steve and Wilde to talk accomplished, Eric began the task of convincing the three girls that there was enough of him to go around.

Brandon and Chase had watched Eric’s scheme unfold with barely concealed mirth, aided by a few good doses of brandy. They continued to watch from their seats on the other side of the room as Eric brought the three girls together, flirting with all three. Brandon shook his head in disbelief as the girls’ body language announced that Eric would get his way. “Dude, your brother is something else. I knew he was going to try and get Wilde and Steve to talk, but first he gets Steve drunk and then makes a move on both their dates in spite of already having picked out a girl for the night himself. He must buy condoms by the truckload.”

Chase shrugged, his eyes still on his brother’s antics. Whatever he was planning to say was forgotten as Eric, pausing by their seats in his hobbling search for another bottle, said in a hushed voice, “Wilde and Steve should be talking things out, so maybe Steve will relax around you guys from now on.”

With a laugh, Chase replied, “Yeah, we’ve been watching. Smooth moves, bro.”

Brandon added with a smile, “Yeah, real smooth. I see you’re getting real cozy with Steve and Wilde’s dates, as well as your own.”

Shrugging, badly feigning a tried voice, Eric replied, “Yeah, I had to get ‘em away from their girls somehow, so I’m being a good host and entertaining all three for the night. Anything to help a friend, ya know?” His face broke into a sly grin.

“You horndog. Three!” Brandon paused, shaking his head in amazement before saying, “Yeah, like there wasn’t any other way to get them away from Steve and Wilde.”

Eric shrugged, turning to look at his three dates, and then looking back at Brandon and Chase to say, “Hey, you can’t expect me to think of everything, now can ya? It just seemed like the best solution.” With a wink, Eric, a bottle of Bellini now in his hands, limped off to return to the company of the three girls. Chase watched him go. “Do you think he’ll ever settle down?”

Brandon waited a few moments before replying, “Maybe, and maybe not. He’s happy like he is, I think, so why change?” Breaking into a smile as a thought occurred to him, Brandon added, while bumping Chase’s knee under the table, “Just like me in a way, I’m happy the way things are going, so why change?” Chase’s answering smile could have lit up the room. His whispered suggestion pleased Brandon even more.

More than one groupie noticed that Brandon and Chase left the party early, together but otherwise alone.

* * *

Standing next to a curry shop in Reigate, England, The Scar fussed with his umbrella, cursing the fact that his contact was late. After fifteen tension-filled minutes, The Scar noticed a large black sedan approaching, signaling for a right-hand turn and then turning left into the street opposite. That was the recognition signal he’d been waiting for, so, checking for a tail by doubling back, pausing, and then crossing the road, The Scar followed the car to where it had parked, hoping that it was his contact, and not merely a confused driver. A quick glance into the car revealed a large man that The Scar remembered well. “Hello, Mario,” he said as he slid into the left-front seat.

Mario pulled away from the curb before answering, “Hello, sir, it has been a long time. I believe you have something for me?”

The Scar nodded, handing over a list of website addresses that were mainly travel-related. “The part after the domain name on the third one: read it backwards and it’s your account number at the usual bank in Zurich. I opened it this morning. However, only half your fee is there, as I have not yet received the majority of the Kryton switches. I will pay the balance, plus a bonus, upon my receipt of the remainder.”

With a reluctant nod, Mario tucked the paper with the account number into his coat pocket. He was not pleased with the development, but he knew better than to argue under the circumstances. Besides, he had news to share that might make the problem go away. “Sir, our industrialist friend received his daughter’s other ear this morning. He swears he will have your switches about one hour from now. I told him that if he does not, the next thing he will receive is his daughter’s right hand.”

With a faint shake of his head, The Scar replied, “Better late than never, I suppose. However, remember our agreement; once he makes delivery, he and his daughter cannot be left to tell any tales, and whatever happens to them must look like an accident. We’ve done business for years, Mario, and I appreciate your professionalism and your confidentiality. You remember our agreement; no one is to know, ever, about these switches I need, correct?” Nodding his head, Mario agreed. His business, such as it was, was built on confidentiality. For that reason, along with a desire to keep the payments for himself alone, he’d handled everything personally, as The Scar had hoped.

There was little The Scar disliked more than security risks, and the man sitting beside him had become one due to his knowledge of the Kryton switches. However, as in so many things, there was a need to balance risk with practicality. It was simply a risk he had little choice but to take, for the moment, because he needed Mario’s services for one other task. “There is another matter. In a few weeks, I will have a job for you in America; some loose ends I’ll need tidying up at a specific time. It must look like an accident, and that will not be easy as they are quite famous. However, an associate of mine has some ideas on how it can be done. I’ll pay four times your usual fee.” The Scar offered.

The lure of the money was more than sufficient, and Mario agreed to take the contract hit. Neither man said much for the remainder of the short drive to a hotel near Gatwick airport. Both limited their conversation to a few pleasantries regarding the weather until arriving at their pre-arranged destination. Before closing the door and driving off into the light rain, Mario said, “You will hear from me in two hours. I’ll be here at exactly noon and if all goes well I will have your package. I can either send it to you by the same means as before, or you can take it with you.”

As soon as Mario was out of sight, The Scar, always mindful of his security, crossed the busy street to his actual hotel.

* * *

Brandon and Chase waited in Helen’s suite while Jon and Eric bid farewell to their dates from the night before. Their plans for the day were to see Rome, or at least some highlights. Helen had set everything up, with more than a little help from Günter and his eye for security. She wondered how her boys would like the arrangements.

Once Jon and Eric had arrived, with Eric looking a little exhausted, for reasons having more to do with the prior night’s escapades than with his confinement to crutches, Helen said, “In order for you four to go out together and not get mobbed, you’ll be in caps and sunglasses, plus stick-on mustaches for Jon and Brandon. Chase, you’ll just have to be careful. Eric, your disguise is a little different...”

Noticing Helen’s evil smirk, Eric asked, “Uh, what kind of disguise?”

Walking over to her closet, Helen pulled a clothes bag off the rail, tossing it to her now-concerned charge. Eric unzipped it and gasped. Brandon stifled a laugh as he pulled out the tube top, wig, padded bra, and high heels. Looking at Eric, he smiled and said, “Helen’s right, you won’t be recognized in this get-up.”

Eric stared at the clothes, a look of horror on his face. “You can’t be serious,” he blurted, and then took a good look at Helen. Trusting his instinct, he said, “You’re kidding, I know you are. If I was recognized in this getup, there would be hell to pay. The papers would be all over it, and it would be bad for the band.”

Breaking into a high-pitched laugh, Helen replied, “Damn, it’s just too hard to fool you. Okay, you dodged the bullet this time, but only because Günter has arranged some private tours for some of the main sights. We’re lucky; there’s a strike today, but a few calls and bingo; you’ve got private showings of the government-owned attractions. That won’t help for some things, but you’ll be in a group with Günter and a few security people masquerading as a tour off one of the cruise lines. Barbra and I will be wearing wigs, and Günter even has a tour group sign to carry. Hopefully, this level of deception will be enough to let us pass as tourists. The press, courtesy of a leak I’ve arranged through our travel agency, thinks you’re going to be in the Naples area today. So, let’s go see Rome.”

They left the hotel via a back door, proceeding on foot, with Eric plodding along on his crutches. Once Günter was sure they weren’t being followed, he led them to the Spanish Steps, where they had time to take a few pictures of the marble staircase and Bernini’s fountain at the foot of it. Chase stopped to look at the little fountain that was modeled after a sinking rowboat. Günter came to his side to say, “It was commissioned after a flood. The Tiber overflowed its banks, and a small boat was left here in the mud, filled with water. So, the Pope commissioned this fountain, in part as a memorial to those who died in the flood.” Günter had done his homework; he needed to appear as a tour guide and what better way than knowing about the sights?

Setting off for a walk south through the busy streets of Rome, they walked single-file on the narrow sidewalk, with Eric plodding along on his crutches just behind Günter, who was holding up a small white sign on a stick. The sign proclaimed them to be tour group number seven and had a cruise line logo above it, just like all the signs the real cruise tour groups had. It was a useful subterfuge: in many of their destinations that day, they would be surrounded by real tour groups and would, they all hoped, attract no unwelcome attention.

A subtle roar began to fill the street as they neared the end of a solid row of four-story buildings, approaching a small piazza. As they entered, to their right they saw the cascades of the famous edifice that capped the end of the row of buildings. Turning back north to face it, Günter admired the familiar statuary, and the water cascading over the artful imitations of rocks. Walking down the three terraces, ignoring the lovers sitting in the sun on the wall, he fished in his pocket for a coin.

Finding the coins he’d brought along for the purpose and chuckling at his own superstitions, handed them around to the group, explaining about the legend that if you tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain, you would one day return. Günter flicked his coin towards the pool at the base of the fountain, wondering if it really could grant a wish or at least allow him to return to the eternal city one day. He’d always tossed in a coin on his many previous visits. Chuckling to himself that it had worked so far, Günter promised himself that he would return. Turning to his charges, he watched as they launched their own coins towards the waters. Eric, already growing tired, sat down to rest as Günter began to tell them the history of the Trevi Fountain. “This fountain at the juncture of three roads, which in Italian would be tre vie, marked the terminal point of the Aqua Virgo, one of the thirteen aqueducts that supplied water to ancient Rome. Over two thousand years ago, with the help of a virgin, according to legend, Roman technicians located a source of pure water ten miles from here. This scene is part of what is presented on the fountain's facade. The original destination of this aqueduct was the Baths of Agrippa, and it lasted for over five centuries in that role. When the Goths cut the aqueducts in the siege of Rome in the year five thirty eight, Rome had already fallen so far that they were unable to repair it. The aqueduct, a testament to those who built it, was still repairable four hundred years later due to being mainly underground. It was again restored in the fifteenth century, at which point the Trevi Fountain was commissioned to be one of its main termini. The original fountains of Rome were mainly water distribution systems, but it was common in ancient as well as medieval and renaissance times to craft elaborate fountains in important locations.”

With the fountain on their right, they walked west, heading for the Pantheon, just a few blocks away.

Approaching the great portico with its enormous granite columns, Günter was relieved to see that the McDonald’s across the small square to the north had taken down its trademark golden arches. He’d always remember his first visit to the Pantheon, and seeing those gaudy plastic arches from its portico, which faced them. Helen looked at the small square and asked, “Why is there an obelisk in it? I remember seeing one on our way in, too. I thought they were Egyptian?”

Günter chuckled, removing his cap to scratch his bald head. “They are Egyptian. The modern world didn’t invent fads. The ancient Romans were highly enamored with Egypt, and they imported many obelisks. In fact, one of the things we’ll see later today is a Pyramid.” Gesturing towards the Pantheon as they ascended the few steps up to the portico, he said, “This is the only large building to survive relatively intact from ancient times. The interior has been remodeled somewhat, but the structure is nearly two thousand years old. When it was built, it had the world’s largest unreinforced concrete dome. That record still stands today.” As they reached the great doors, he added, “These doors are the original. They weigh several tons, but they are so perfectly balanced that a person can move them with one hand. The bronze work is original too, though it was once covered in gold. The gold was taken during one of the sacks of Rome, and was but the first of many pillagings of this building.”

They entered the crowded building, distracted only slightly by the many tour groups under the enormous rotunda. Looking up, from the marble floor and past the gold-leaf renaissance additions of false columns, they saw the half-spherical roof, a perfect monolith of concrete over a hundred and fifty foot across. In its center, a large circular opening let in a shaft of sunlight, which provided the chamber’s only illumination to spectacular effect. In spite of the crowds milling around, the quiet and stately atmosphere of the ancient edifice had the effect Günter had anticipated; a silence instilled by awe. Gesturing upwards, he said, “That opening is called the oculus, which is the Latin word for ‘eye’. It looks small from down here, but its thirty feet in diameter. If it were raining, you would see the rain within a shaft of light, and that is one of the most spectacular sights I’ve ever seen. If you find yourselves in Rome on a rainy day, it is not to be missed. The building was originally built as a temple, and then consecrated as a church in medieval times. That great dome once had an interior covering of bronze, but that was pulled down and stolen by one of the Byzantine emperors. The interior today is also used as a tomb. Over to the left there, for example, is where the painter Raphael is interred.”

After everyone had a chance to look around, they filed out of the building. Once back outside, Günter said, “Look up.” They all did, seeing the exposed wooden and stone beams that supported the tiled roof of the portico. Günter told them how that had come to be, “Up above you was once a great bronze masterpiece, covering the beams that you can now see. It was the last treasure of ancient Rome, having survived the many sacks of the city by virtue of being too heavy for the barbarians to bother with. However, as Pasquino said, ‘What the barbarians did not do, the Barberini did.’ Barberini was the family name of the Pope who looted the bronze, and melted down the last treasure of ancient Rome.”

Chase looked around, wondering, as had so many before him, what the bronze art looked like, for it is lost to history in even its appearance, and asked, “Who was Pasquino?”

Günter chuckled as he led them away from the Pantheon. “One of the greatest wits of Rome, for about the last five centuries or so. You will meet him today. I’ll bet you didn’t know that a statue could talk.” Leading his puzzled group, Günter walked a few hundred yards to the west, taking the confusing turns in stride, before arriving, as expected, in the vast expanse of the Piazza Navona. There, he gave them the history, pointing out the places, and the three great fountains in the center, stopping at the largest, the Fountain of the Four Rivers, topped with an Egyptian obelisk. Jon noticed that Eric was gritting his teeth as sweat dripped off him. Jon knew his brother was both too proud and too stubborn to ask on his own, so he said, “Let’s stop and sit by the fountain for a while, and have a break.”

Heading south along the vast Piazza Navona after Eric had rested somewhat, they took a narrow street to the right at the south end, which opened, after a few dozen yards, onto a small piazza. Turning to face his charges, Günter pointed behind them, at a life-sized though badly damaged statue, and introduced them to Pasquino, the most famous of Rome’s “Talking Statues.” He explained the long tradition of posting witty sayings, usually personal attacks on the powers that be, on the statue’s pedestal, while lamenting that today, the level of local wit seemed reduced to posting multiple copies of political flyers on the statue’s base.

A short ride in two taxis that Günter, with a practiced eye for avoiding attention, had arranged in lieu of limousines was followed by lunch at a small restaurant that Günter recommended. The group then found themselves at the base of the stairs leading to the top of Capitoline Hill. Eric took one look up the long, broad staircase, barely noticing the enormous Victor Emmanuelle monument to his left, and said, “I don’t know if I can make it up there. That’s a long climb.”

Chase and Brandon exchanged a quick look, and with a smile, Brandon knelt down in front of Eric and said, “Climb on.”

Eric was reluctant for a moment, feeling frustrated by his inability to manage on his own, but then with a shrug and a laugh he said, “Cool, a piggy back ride, thanks dude,” as he handed his crutches to Chase and climbed onto Brandon’s waiting back.

After the long climb and a look around at the top, they walked a little further to an overlook at the edge of a narrow road that angled down the hill on the far side. Approaching the marble railing, they looked down on what had been the heart of ancient Rome. From their viewpoint, they could see the Forum, with its ruined temples, set against the enormous bulk of the Coliseum in the far distance, and on their right the ruins of the palaces on Palatine Hill. Chase snapped picture after picture, taking more than a few of Brandon in the process, but all were amazed at the sight. Günter led them down a twisting descent to a gate, where an official was waiting to take them on their private showing: due to the strike, the Forum was closed to the throngs of tourists that would normally besiege it every afternoon. Standing amid the ancient ruins, Brandon and Chase stood a little aside from the others. Chase turned to face Brandon, smiling as he fingered his tiger’s eye pendant, a sight that thrilled Brandon even more than his surroundings. With the official leading the way, they were shown the rest of the Forum, and then the great Arch of Constantine as they walked towards the Coliseum.

After their visit to the Coliseum, they walked east, crossing several busy and somewhat hazardous streets. With Eric beginning to grumble about his sore arms thanks to the crutches, they arrived at an open, park-like area, passing a small running track to arrive at the main entrance for the Baths of Caracalla.

Günter was in his glory, really getting into his role as tour guide. “These baths, the largest aquatic complex ever built, were constructed by the Emperor Caracalla around eighteen-hundred years ago. They covered over thirty acres and required an entire aqueduct for water...” Günter continued his history lesson, as the group strolled through the towering red-brick ruins. Chase found himself almost too distracted by the sheer size of the place to remember to take pictures. Helen stood aside, busy with her cell-phone as she received some news that made her happy. Giving some quick instructions regarding where they’d be later that day, she hung up, rejoining the group but keeping the news as a surprise.

With their private tour complete – the Baths too had been closed to the public by the strike –, they took taxis in deference to Eric’s aching arms, heading southwest along the old Aurelian walls, until a very surprising thing came into view: the pyramid Günter had mentioned. Built of white limestone, it stood as part of the Aurelian wall, though the pyramid was centuries older. With a last look up the avenue towards the Coliseum, they turned south, past the pyramid, heading for the ring road and from there to The Vatican for a visit to St. Peters and the Sistine Chapel. Günter had made special arrangements to get them past the long, slow lines that usually encumbered visitors, so they were able to enter the Sistine Chapel first, and then enter the Vatican museum, which was opposite to the direction tourists usually had to take.

After entering the Vatican Museum, Helen paused, stepping aside to speak hurriedly into her cell phone. She returned, grinning as they entered the long corridors of the museum, as they recognized a familiar figure approaching. “Jerry, it’s so good to see you again,” Helen said, a little too loudly for the hushed surroundings.

Jerry rushed forward, giving her a big hug, and she turned to present her surprise to the group. “Jerry called me earlier, and we arranged to meet up here and I thought I’d surprise you all. I’d hoped he would be joining us in Rome, but we weren’t sure until he phoned while we were at the Baths of Caracalla. Jerry is pretty knowledgeable on the Vatican Museum, so he’s going to show us around.” Günter felt, for a moment, mildly unhappy at being replaced as the resident expert on what they were seeing, though Jerry’s expertise soon won him over.

Walking forward to greet the members of Instinct, Jerry ran his fingers through his thick hair before making a beeline for Eric. Sweeping the reluctant bassist into a big hug as Eric’s crutches clattered to the marble floor, Jerry gushed, “I’m so glad that you are okay. I saw the first news reports and I was just so devastated. Horrible, horrible people those paparazzi. It must have been very rough for you today though, going about all these places on crutches.”

Struggling to avoid rolling his eyes, because Jerry had made a nearly identical demonstration back in Berlin, and breaking free of the tight, overly familiar embrace Eric agreed. “Yeah, my arms hurt and I’m tired. What brings you to Rome, anyway?” he asked.

“I was in Venice on business so I wanted to stop by and make sure everything is set with your equipment to get it to Australia. There was a bit of a mix-up with the shipping due to scheduling, and I had to make arrangements to get all seven shipping containers on a fast freighter due to the time constraints. The good news is that it will get to Australia in plenty of time for your first concert in just over two weeks. I also just wanted to see all of you again. It’s been much too long,” Jerry said, before launching into a spiel about the displays of medieval clockwork near where they stood. Eric rolled his eyes slightly and moved off, looking for a place to sit down as Günter and Jerry launched into an animated and long-winded discussion of middle-ages machinery.

After an hour in the museum, during which the members of Instinct were told far more than they’d ever wanted to know regarding some of the displays, Jerry led them out the rear entrance and to some waiting taxis for their return to the hotel.

* * *

At the Toowoomba facility, Dimitri watched as the engineer, along with his new assistant took exquisite care as they removed the final half-cylinder of plutonium from the four-axis milling machine. It was far from easy, because they were dressed in protective gear and further encumbered by the air packs they needed in order to breathe. The atmosphere in the clean room had been replaced by pure nitrogen, needed in order to keep oxygen away from the reactive plutonium. The engineer and his assistant checked the plutonium with a micrometer, ensuring that its machining met the design’s specifications. Once so assured, the engineer began the process of plating the plutonium with a thin layer of gold. Once that was done, it could be exposed to air, but not until this was completed. The final assembly of the three devices, to everyone’s relief, could proceed. Dimitri had also discovered the engineer’s need for the gold leaf; he had used it to coat several interior surfaces, including the mounting brackets, thereby saving time over plating. The engineer had explained, only after much prodding, that the insulation and thermal characteristics of gold made it superior to nickel for their purposes, and using gold leaf avoided the need for electroplating those components that did not require such fine tolerances. It had indeed saved time, and the engineer was, Dimitri begrudgingly admitted, rightly proud of his genius. However, it had irritated Dimitri that the engineer had been so reluctant to explain his demands, especially once it had become evident that the reason for the engineer’s secrecy was for nothing more than to feed his own ego.

Leaving his assistant to complete the plating process, the engineer exited the room via their improvised airlock, and, after disposing of a set of external gloves and then checking with a Geiger counter, he removed his helmet. “Dimitri, we are nearly done,” the engineer proudly proclaimed. “We can begin final assembly now. I am so happy that you found someone competent to assist me.” Dimitri bristled at the remark, for he himself had been the engineer’s previous assistant.

Reminding himself that the engineer had likely not intended his remark to be an insult, Dimitri smiled. “Vladimir, I am happy with how things are going, as is our employer. You have done a superb job and we are ahead of schedule. Soon, you will be a very wealthy man, as we promised.”

The engineer smiled, deciding to let his friend Dimitri in on his plans. “When we are done, I think I will stay here in Australia. I saw more kangaroos earlier today, and I love this land with its strange and exotic people and wildlife. I will be happy here, I think, which is a surprise to me. This entire experience has been very enlightening.”

“I will miss you, Vladimir,” Dimitri replied with what was not quite a lie, for in a strange way he found the annoying engineer to be, sometimes, almost a friend. “It has been most interesting working with you on this project.” Noticing that the engineer was about to say something, and correctly guessing what, Dimitri shared some happy news. “The Kryton switches have been obtained and you will have them in a few days.”

The engineer smiled in reply, happy that the final procurement hurdle appeared to be behind them. “In that case, we should have the devices complete well within the three-week deadline.” The engineer then returned to his task, re-sealing his suit and re-entering the nitrogen-filled room, and set to work using liquid Freon to flush any remaining plutonium shavings from the milling machine.

* * *

Eric plodded into the hotel lobby the following morning, grimacing from his sore arms and chaffed armpits, and dreading the coming long days’ travel on crutches. A wheelchair was one possibility, but with his sore arms, he’d be almost as bad off. Eric liked to feel in control and the idea of having someone push him around all day in a wheelchair was something he would not willingly accept. Three more days and he should have the cast off, he’d been told, but to him it seemed like forever. Joining his band-mates as they waited for the ride to the airport, Eric glanced up at the door, his jaw dropping open in surprise as Jerry motored in, at the controls of a light, collapsible electric scooter, of the kind many disabled people use.

A beaming Jerry pulled to a stop in front of Eric, hopping off the scooter, and then gesturing towards it with a flamboyant gesture as he said, “Helen told me that you’d be on crutches for a few more days, and I knew your arms would still be sore from yesterday. Therefore, I made a few phone calls last night. The long and the short of it is that this is yours for as long as you need it, and then it will be donated to a children’s hospital in Australia. This should make your travel far easier, and a little more fun.”

Tossing the despised crutches aside, Eric jumped into the scooter’s seat, terrorizing several occupants of the lobby as he got a feel for the controls. Looking up at Jerry as he drove around in circles, Eric grinned as he said, “Dude, thank you! You’re a life saver, you know that?”

Helen eyed the scooter with unease, remembering how dangerous Eric had been in a wheelchair. She’d been delighted when Jerry had suggested the idea to her the night before, and consoled herself with the thought that it was only for a couple of days, and at least the scooter’s overhang would make it more difficult for Eric to commit mayhem on anyone’s toes.

After buzzing once more around the lobby, Eric stopped by Jerry and thanked him again. “This is perfect, dude. Thank you so much. I can’t wait to get out of this damn cast, but this will make things so much easier until then. I was really hurting from yesterday.” Eric’s band mates, remembering their previous encounters with Eric’s wheelchair, stood well back out of the way.

Remembering Eric’s after-concert antics, Chase asked Jon, “Any news from The Shadows yet?”

Jon shook his head. “Eric called Wilde yesterday and this morning. They’re off doing some PR work, and Wilde apparently wasn’t alone so Eric didn’t find out much. Wilde said he’d talked with Steve, and that everything was okay, but nothing more. I guess we’ll have to wait until they get to Australia to find out.”

When the hotel’s airport shuttle van arrived, Jerry took care of folding up Eric’s scooter, and they were off, leaving Rome behind for the drive to Da Vinci airport. After getting everyone checked in, Helen headed off to a coffee bar with Jerry for an espresso in an attempt to relax a little. As they sat down, Jerry ran his fingers through his thick hair as he said, “I was shocked over that false report of Eric’s death, and I can only imagine the hell you must have gone through. I do hope the paparazzi won’t be too much of a problem in Australia. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Helen smiled at her friend before replying, “They boys need to have some privacy, and with Chase and Brandon’s relationship, there is an additional risk of exposure. You already know the schedule dates because you planned the logistics, but once we’re in Australia we’ll be shooting some videos and then having a few days’ vacation before the first Australian concert in Perth, followed by three more concerts to complete our contractual obligations, then we head home. While we’re waiting on the gear to cross the Pacific, we’ll be back in Los Angeles doing some prelim work for the next album and some public relations stuff, before beginning the final leg of the tour in Los Angeles and wind it up in New York a few days later for the finale. After that, we’re taking a month off, because we all need it. I don’t know what the boys are doing, but Barbra and I are going to Tahiti.” Helen shook her head in frustration before adding, “I’m sorry; I’m a little stressed out. I just want to stop the continual harassment from the paparazzi. The only reason we were able to see Rome was some creative leaks on my part to send the scum off after some false leads. I’ve got a few ideas on how to handle things once we get back to the States, but I’m worried about Australia. The offer that Australian firm made us to appear there was generous in the extreme, but the guys have their hearts set on some hassle-free vacation time and I just hope everything goes okay.”

“I’m sure it will, my dear, I’m sure it will, but just in case it doesn’t, let me know and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be in Australia much of the time you are there and I have a few contacts that might be of help. I have a way of making things happen, you know,” Jerry said with a wink.

Looking back up the terminal to where Eric was busy chasing his band mates around with the scooter, Helen chuckled at the man she had come to think of as a friend. “Yes, you certainly do. I’ve been on a lot of concert tours, and you’ve handled the logistics for this one better than any I’ve seen. That was a wonderful idea that you had for Eric, too. He was originally supposed to have that cast off by now, but the last doctor decided to delay it by a few days. He’ll need some exercise to get back in condition, but one of the things the doctor recommended was walking on sand, so Australia might be the perfect prescription.”

Jerry nodded in Eric’s direction as they finished their coffee. “I’m always happy to help. You and your boys were there for me when I really needed friends, and I don’t forget things like that, so if there’s anything you ever need, I’m only a phone call away.”

The two friends rejoined Günter, Barbra, and the members of Instinct, just as the first boarding call for their flight came over the gate’s public address system. Half an hour later, their Qantas flight lifted off, serving them lunch as they headed for Hong Kong, where they would change planes for Brisbane, their first stop in the land down under.