The Click
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hitch packed up all his belongings and now had to get back to Mumbai without

VAMA on his ass. If they discovered he chartered a helicopter in Siena for Rome, they would stop him for sure on some pretext … or just kill him on the spot like that damn drone tried to do earlier. He opened the balcony drapes wide enough to see a VAMA hearse standing guard. “Jesus!”

How was he going to deal with this? He was sure they had someone behind the hotel. They probably had someone in the lobby, by the elevators. Hell, the place would have to go up in flames for him to get out unseen.

“That’s it!” He sat and thought out his brilliant idea. After a few minutes he rushed into the hall. First he went left all the way down to the end, then to the right. Halfway down, there it was, a bright red fire extinguisher and alarm in a recessed glass case. He rushed back to his room, picked up his things ran back to the glass case. He broke the case with the heel of his shoe and set off the ALARM. He raced to the stairwell and hobbled down to the next level with only one shoe on and did the same thing just as guests began streaming into the hall. More noise, more people.

He followed several of the guests into the stairwell and waited at the lobby level for a larger crowd. At least twenty of them rushed into the lobby where they merged with more guests and everyone headed for the street. Hitch maneuvered his way through the crowd and traffic until he was several blocks from the hotel on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio. He flagged down a taxi heading away from the hotel and jumped in.

An hour or so later he exited the taxi, paid the driver, and rushed to the helicopter he had chartered. From there he travelled to Rome and in Rome he boarded a commercial jet to Mumbai. He had suggested to Meta that maybe they should travel under fictitious passports since no doubt VAMA would be tracking them. “Not to worry,” she told him. “They will only be able to track us to the School of Learning. We will easily lose them

there.” Hitch didn’t know how but Meta seemed so confident he didn’t press her on the issue.

Travelers around the world hurried into and out of the Chhatrapati Shivaji International airport in Mumbai. Hitch, being one of those travelers, exited Customs with little difficulty and saw Meta waiting. She greeted him with kisses on both cheeks, then rushed him through the closest exit to a line of taxis. Hitch started to approach the first one in line when Meta grabbed his arm and shook her head. She led him around the corner where a lone taxi was waiting. The driver, a young black man, sat behind the wheel as Meta opened the back door and motioned for her companion to get in.

The streets were snarled with traffic in downtown Mumbai, a necessary route to where they were heading, as the driver dodged and weaved under a canopy of colossal glass skyscrapers in the shadowed heat of morning. All the glass, all those people standing behind it, staring down at him, he thought. It was as if the entire Mumbai population was keeping track of his every move.

Early in the ride, Hitch updated Meta on Christopher’s situation according to his last conversation with Barnaby Bloom. At the time they were just leaving the States. Hitch conveniently left out the fact that his daughter was anything but thrilled with their travel plans.

“And Elana Wu? Where does that stand?” Meta asked.

“That’s taken care of. They will meet us at the Jewish School of Leaning per your instructions.”

“They”?

“Yes, they.” Hitch did not elaborate. He wasn’t about to compromise Julian who certainly didn’t have to involve himself in saving Christopher, and he did so at great risk to himself. The less anyone knew of his participation, the better.

Meta did not respond. She remained almost stoic Hitch thought, but breathed easier once he realized she was not going to force the issue.

For several minutes neither of them spoke making the sound of heavy traffic that much more invasive. Suddenly Meta turned to Hitch. “We have a problem. A very

reliable source told me we have a mole …”

Hitch glared, then jerked his head toward the driver.

“He’s one of us.”

“Who’s the source?”

“Never mind that. Someone knew we were meeting at my place and why. And it wasn’t a DanSheban. I assure you of that.”

Hitch pushed back against his door and twisted around to confront Meta. “My people? Not possible.”

“You know it’s possible. Now think. … Who?”

“Your source first. You tell me …” Hitch was not going to be bullied into accepting such an outrageous accusation.

“No names, but this comes from deep in the White House.” Meta pulled out her scud and began tapping on it. “Maybe this will help.”

A hologram rose from her scud. Subject: Opus Dei/Tarsusian Sect. Underneath Hitch saw a symbol, an oval surrounding a human figure standing with arms outstretched and feet together like a Christian Cross.

“Have you ever seen one of these?” she asked.

“What is it?”

“Opus Dei … no, actually it’s the Tarsusian spinoff. A fanatical sect that was instrumental in transforming the Catholic Church into the present day Church of the Ecclesia.”

Hitch started to say never but then turned away from the hologram and Meta. He stared out the window and began racing through his mind’s eye as it shuttled him back through the years. Every few seconds that symbol flashed in and out with greater resolution. Then nothing … no not nothing … sand, endless sand. Then EXPLOSIONS all around him … endless sand and EXPLOSIONS. A man down. He couldn’t see. Desert sand continued to blow through his mind’s eye. Blood oozing up through the sand began coloring his vision. An arm? A man’s face blurred. His body twisted away from his arm. He’s breathing … alive. Hitch digs his way under the sand, around the torso, he lifts him

blood everywhere. Hitch looks down. The arm remains. He spots the oval with the figure inside, all covered with sand, with blood. He carries the man across the battlefield.

He wants to go back for the arm … but can’t.

Hitch turned back to Meta and sighed. “Yeah. I ’ve seen it.”

Minister McGivney sat across the table from the Supreme Minister having tea and reporting where matters stood regarding the so called Smotecal Decretum. The smotec was less than happy with the report.

“You were supposed to take care of this … this abomination,” he screamed turning his back on McGivney who tried his best to hold himself together. Smotec Pius then turned back. “You still haven’t the slightest idea where the Decretum is … the original?”

That took McGivney by surprise. The original … for real, he thought. “The Smotecal Decretum, Your Sacredness? … But I thought that was all made up.”

“Made up! Made up! It’s as fucking real as the poxes on your face … and it could destroy us. Do you hear me, McGivney? It could destroy the Church. And that’s not all. If there really is a shithole in the jungles of India harboring hundreds of octogenarians happily living into old age, they must be destroyed. It must be destroyed before the world learns of its existence. … Do you hear me McGivney?”

The smotec’s tirade thundered down the High Minister’s spine as he traveled the streets from the Vatican to the Cūtocracy. He needed to breathe fresh air. The tunnel was not an option this time. It reeked of pious hypocrisy. As he approached the Cūtocratic headquarters, he looked at his watch. Upon entering the lobby he could hear Rosewall’s irritating voice around the corner. He slowed down and peeked over a large vase with artificial flowers observing Rosewall’s tirade. He was tired of tirades.

The General had Rousseau by the collar. “Fool! Idiot! I should have let you rot in Paris. How could you let her go?”

The Minister stepped into view. “You’re the fool, Rosewall.” He approached the two of them and pushed them apart. “She didn’t let Wu go. We took her, and for good reason. We need to replace that fucking village in the jungles of India.”

After the taxi carrying Meta and Hitch put Mumbai’s downtown behind them and they approached the Jewish School of Learning on the east coast of the city not far from Chembur, the atmosphere became carnival-like astonishing Hitch, although from where he sat Meta seemed unruffled. Cars, trucks, the media … people everywhere, and holograms emanating from every possible device filling the streets with a rainbow haze of overlapping images no more discernable than a jigsaw puzzle under several pounds of sludge. He could see children eating on cotton candy and lollipops pushing and shoving their way through the hordes of onlookers. And signs everywhere. Some extolled the Click, others rejected it. One group held up a banner: UnClick Us Now. Another group of priests and clergy brandish their own battle-cry: The Click Is Divine. VAMA hearses dotted the landscape like a heavy dose of pepper on the white of an egg.

As they pushed through, slowly, a crowd gathered around an eccentric looking preacher who stood on the hood of a car with a megaphone while a woman and six children of all ages sang Amazing Grace. Hitch opened his window in order to better hear the preacher.

“Rally around the Cūtocracy and our beloved smotic. The Click is God’s way of protecting the Earth and its children from overpopulation.” Hitch counted all the children and had to laugh.

The taxi maneuvered its way through the crowd, moving closer to the preacher. Hitch turned back and noticed a shuttle bus on their tail, then forward as the carnival atmosphere thickened.

“What the hell? How did all these people … and the media know where …?” Meta smiled. “I’m afraid it was me. Let the world know the truth and it will act.

That’s my motto, Oliver.”

Hitch started to respond but was cut off by the preacher who continued on. “We have known nothing but prosperity. No cancer. No heart attacks. No war since the Great Plague.”

As the taxi pulled closer to the curb with the Shuttle right behind, the preacher droned on. “And it was the Almighty who saw fit to provide us with a means for attaining the prosperity we have come to take for granted. God has given us a gift... the Click. Now a war is being waged against the peace we cherish. Now the Almighty’s enemies are hell-bent on taking it away from us! The devil is among us, dear people.”

McGivney vanished as fast as he came, just long enough to harass them, Rousseau thought. He took Wu? The shit-ass German worked for McGivney? She looked over at Rosewall after watching the High Minister close the door behind him. “What now?”

“I don’t trust the son-of-a-bitch. I’m going to need you in Mumbai, near that so called Jewish School of Learning. The powers here at the Cūtocracy are a thread’s thickness away from convincing the UN to pull the plugs out and …”

“Pull the plugs out?” Rousseau wasn’t following.

“The entire UN fleet under VAMA’s authority, under my authority, are convening in Mumbai as we speak. It has the ability to destroy everyone at that so called School of Learning if it has to and I don’t want McGivney to fuck it up.” The General nodded as if satisfied with his pronouncement then turned to the window and looked out, Rousseau followed his stare. She could see McGivney walking towards the Vatican.

“What about the village in the jungles of …”

“There is no God damn village. McGivney is delusional. And if the UN doesn’t have the balls to pull out the plugs, then, Rousseau, you and I and those loyal to me, and only me, will do what needs to be done. … Do you understand?” He looked over at her.

She smiled. “Anything you say, boss.”