Terry Neale - Jo-el

“Guess?”

“Writing a report.”

“You’re good, Joey, you hardly need me,” she laughed and I enjoyed the levity.

“No movement from the bad guys?”

“Nope, I’ll let you know if any of them stir. Your daughter called and left you a message.”

“Dang!” I started to get up to fetch my cell-phone.

“You don’t need your phone; I can tell you what she said.”

“You can get my messages?”

“Duh!”

I stared at Sally for a minute and then fell back on to the sofa. “Well?”

“Do you want it verbatim?”

“Whatever.”

“She wants to have dinner with you tomorrow and bring Adam.”

“Here?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Can you text her, you know, as if it was coming from me?”

“Jo-el, do you really have to ask?”

“No, I guess not. Tell her ‘love to see you and Adam tomorrow, how about six-thirty?”

“Done.”

Be fun to see what they thought of the man with wings, I thought.

“There’s some other news.” I glanced over, Sally was grinning.

“Okay, what?”

“Seems that one of those security guards at the CIA building told a friend, who told a friend, who tweeted that you have a computer around your waist.”

I waited for the inevitable repercussions.

“Two million Tweets and counting. You name it, it’s been said. I think mad scientist is now odds on favorite.”

“Beats, Alien, I guess.”

“Not sure the Cirion people would agree?”

I laughed.

“Also, more than eighty thousand women have asked you to marry them. Many added links to photos, which didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.”

“Thank God I don’t have a Twitter account.”

“Talking of Twitter accounts, more than three hundred have been set up purporting to be you.”

“Oh my God. What’s the Twitter people doing about it?”

“They’re trying to vet each one. Ton of work. There was an official post from Twitter that asked you to contact them so they could verify who you are and set up an account.”

“No way, I’d never leave the keyboard.”

“I could do it for you.”

I thought about that for a minute, maybe that wasn’t such a crazy idea. Give me a window straight to the people.

“Let me think about that, Sally.”

“Same with Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, etcetera.”

Social Media, absolutely incredible but I didn’t think it was good idea at that time. “No, not now.” I said.

“There was one thread you might want to think about? A billionaire, Anton Chemerov, Russian oligarch, has posted that he would pay you ten million dollars to have dinner with him.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Well it gets crazier. It sparked off a bidding war and we’re now up to forty million.”

My mouth dropped open and dried up. Forty million dollars to have dinner with me. As it sunk in I became more flabbergasted, these rich people have more money than sense. But then I considered the potential upside of winning my confidence. All the public knew so far was I had wings, if those wings were controlled by a computer you wore around your waist and that could be replicated, the business potential was astronomical. “Who’s the last bidder?” I asked.

“Malcom Reese, US business man, aerospace.”

“Unbelievable! I guess I’ll have to charge Maggie tomorrow night? Anything else going on?”

“There’s lots of media comment. Several commentators are asking why you didn’t save those refugees who drowned in the Mediterranean last night, when their boat capsized. Twelve children were among the dead.”

“Oh, shit! I didn’t know. What am I supposed to do? I can’t be everywhere.” I studied Sally for an answer, but her expression said nothing, she wasn’t fazed. Death was an everyday occurrence; she’d witnessed it for eternity. More than one hundred and fifty thousand people a day. I couldn’t get sucked into rescuing every poor individual whose life was threatened, I had to focus on the big picture, giant cliché but the truth. That put a damper on my mood. I decided to take a walk.

“What did Pippa say?”

“She’ll text when she’s ready.”

“Okay, I’m going for a walk.”

I grabbed my coat and headed for the park. The March rains were holding off but a blustery wind blew from the ocean. Tall Palm trees swayed heavily back and forth, I pulled my collar close. As I walked I considered the future.

I’d set many wheels in motion now. Eventually the public would discover my talent for travel around the world. How would that play on the talk shows? Taking heads would be spinning. How would the leaders of China or Russia view the situation? I worried about that. I needed all the world to accept me, not just America. Maybe I should distance myself from America? Maybe I should go to China and talk to the leaders there? I struggled with how to accomplish that. I knew little of their culture and nothing of their leaders. Perhaps they’ll invite me to come when they discover my technology, that might be the way to go. What about my skill for killing people, anywhere, anytime? I could only imagine the fear that would induce. Maybe I should try and keep that topic from getting out any further? Trouble was, I had no idea how to stop it.

All these things and more raced around my head and I concluded that I truly couldn’t control world opinion and as this thing grew my ability to influence would probably diminish, which made me consider Twitter. At least that would allow me a voice. It was an idea and I was warming to it.

Sally told me that Pippa was concluding her work in Portsmouth, so I changed back to Jo-el and bounced to the hospital. The sun was already down and it was bitterly cold. I texted Pippa to join me outside the front entrance. My heart lifted as she exited the sliding glass doors clutching her phone in one hand and her carry-bag over her shoulder. She smiled gracefully and held up the phone.

“Colin, needs me asap, the report.”

“Did you tell him I was bringing you back?”

“No,” she smiled, “thought you could buy me dinner?”

Damn, I’d eaten not too long ago, but coffee was always needed. “I’d love to.”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

Her eyes widened and her lips formed a question mark. “You ever been to St. Barts?”

“The Island?”

She nodded. Wow! This lady cottoned on quick. Jo-el’s travel service, anywhere, anyplace, in an instant. I laughed to myself.

“So warm down there, right now.”

“ Got you around her little finger, Joey.” I heard Sally in my ear. I didn’t answer.

“Okay, do you know a place?”

“Ah-huh! Great creole food, Mama’s Cantina.”

I told Sally to find it and book a table for two under Mr. North. Five minutes.

“ Whose paying Joey-boy? They only take Euros in St. Barts.”

“Shit! Wait a minute, I’ve got some left from my Ireland trip. I’ll come get them.”

“Quite the jet-setter.”

“Let’s go!” I took Pippa by the arm and led her around the corner away from the entrance and prying eyes.

“ Sally, find somewhere near, okay?”

“Sure thing, lover-boy.”

We bounced to the French Island of St. Barts, playground of the rich. We were in a parking lot close to trees. It was dark but the air temperature was warm. Pippa took off her coat. She wasn’t dressed for the Island, still in her CIA garb of black slacks, white blouse and small black jacket, but she didn’t seem to care and I certainly didn’t. She had ditched the grey overcoat she’d used to cover the Dutch girl. I changed into cream pants, loafers and a yellow button down shirt.