011. Friends & Family

Colonel Elias Cuevas, a Benavides' loyalist and member of the Peruvian Policía Secreta, watched as the last of twenty Airco DH.4s were set alight. His men had rounded up what was left of Jose Guerrero's supporters, of which thirty-three had already been shot dead. Among these last dozen or so men was Guerrero himself. Cuevas offered his service revolver to the person who had traded in the lives of fifty-one men for his own worthless life.

'Would you like to do the honours, Mr. DuPont?' Cuevas asked.

'No.' DuPont replied.

Cuevas shrugged, 'Suit yourself.'

The Colonel smiled devilishly and shot the Brazilian resistance leader dead. He waved dismissively at the last of Guerrero's men as he holstered his pistol.

'Take care of them.' he said to his Lieutenant.

As Cuevas walked away from the scene with DuPont at his side, several loud gunshots rung out, stirring a flock of macaws from their roost. Cuevas paused out of sight of his men. He lit a cigarette and offered it to DuPont, who took a few short drags on it. The Colonel patted the older man on the shoulder.

'I am afraid that your services are no longer required.'

Cuevas tightened his grip on DuPont's shoulder. The glint of a knife blade briefly caught the other man's attention as it was driven into his abdomen. DuPont fell to the ground and began to bleed like a stuck pig. Cuevas smirked and flicked his spent cigarette at his prone form.

'Buenas noches, cerdo.' he spat.

Colonel Cuevas turned on his heel and returned to his men. For a few minutes, DuPont's weakened heart continued to pump blood out of the gaping wound in his abdomen. A few minutes after that, his heart stopped and DuPont succumbed to his injuries.

============

TWO YEARS LATER…

Caroline Carol awoke from a pleasant night's sleep. It took her a few moments of surveying her surroundings before she remembered where she was. She was in London, staying with a friend of her mother's. Caroline eased herself out of bed and donned a silk nightgown, before slipping down the stairs to the sunroom where her mother's friend's daughter was eating breakfast. Hattie Redfield smiled as Caroline entered.

'Good morning,' Hattie said, 'Sleep well?'

Caroline smiled, 'Yes, thank you.'

'You yanks sure know how to sleep,' Hattie teased, 'It's nearly 8am!'

Caroline chuckled and unfolded a newspaper that had been sitting on the table. It was a day-old copy of the Evening News.

'Notice anything about that paper?' Hattie asked.

Caroline scanned the front and back pages. 'No,' she said, 'Should I have?'

'Page three, in the footer. See it?'

Caroline turned to the third page. There, written beneath the page number, were three characters: C6Q.

'What does it mean?' Caroline asked.

Hattie took the paper from Caroline. 'I'll show you.' she said.

The other woman produced a small pocketbook and a crumpled map of London. She set these two items out on the table along with the newspaper, and began cross-referencing between all three.

'Now "C", that's…City of Westminster,' she said, turning a few pages in her pocketbook, 'And the "6" is…Beak Street and "Q"…'

'What is this?' Caroline asked, intrigued.

Hattie playfully shushed her, 'So, if "6" is Beak Street than "Q" must be…yes, the Golden Ox!'

'So, are you going to let me in on your little secret?'

Hattie smiled ruefully, 'I'm sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes. Let me explain: what with all this dreary war business, most of the major auction houses have shut up shop. This has forced art collectors such as myself underground. Fortunately, one of our number – his name is Spalding, I think – has an understanding with a typesetter at the Evening News; he sneaks in these little codes, you see…'

'Is that what this "C6Q" is?'

'Yes, that's right. Each of us has a little book just like this one. By cross-referencing this with the code we can find out the location where the next auction is to take place. Typically, they are held at 6pm the day after the newspaper is printed…'

'You mean today?'

Hattie grinned, 'And you simply must come with me, Caroline. It'll be good for you. It'll get you out of the house…'

Caroline took a bite out of a piece of toast.

'I don't know,' she said, 'Auctions have never really been my thing.'

'Oh, please?' Hattie pleaded, 'Promise you'll come?'

Caroline relented. 'I don't have to get dressed up or anything, do I?' she asked.

Her friend shot her a look of disdain, 'Well you're not going in that, are you?'

Caroline looked at her nightgown, 'This? Don't be ridiculous, Hattie.'

'I'm sorry, I just can never tell with you.'

Caroline rolled her eyes. She crammed the last bit of toast into her mouth and left the table. Leaving the sunroom she began to climb the stairs up to her room.

'I'll expect you ready by four.' Hattie called after her.

'Bite me.' Caroline said.

'What was that?'

'I said, "okay".'

Caroline merely tolerated Hattie Redfield. She was everything Caroline had set out not to be: spoilt, lazy and incapable of thinking outside her own little clique. Unlike Caroline, Hattie's mother had married into money. It was never a good idea, Caroline thought, to marry into money. Reluctantly, she set about choosing an outfit to wear to the auction.

TO BE CONTINUED...