Chapter Three

“What on earth are you eating Phil?” Maresa asked playfully, one eyebrow up. She watched with mock disgust, as he dug another escargot from its shell.

He rolled his eyes and asked “Do they not teach you what food looks like in American schools?”

“You can probably differentiate between a Big Mac and a Whopper, no?” Philippe said dryly, dipping a snail in a small bowl of sauce.

Maresa Wilkins liked listening to Philippe talk, not in any salacious way but just because it reminded her of Hungary. He wasn’t even Hungarian, but the strong European accent was enough. Maresa loved the US, but losing touch with friends and even many family members was one of the few regrets she had.

She stuffed the last bite of roast beef sandwich in her mouth and spoke while chewing “It’s all cow, so no difference!”

After Maresa and Philippe finished lunch they returned to sorting and answering mail. Maresa’s official title was assistant to the Secretary of Cultural Affairs, Philippe’s title was Assistant to Maresa.

She had her own small office in a complex a few blocks away, but occasionally worked on projects and even routine tasks like mail, at the Governor’s main office when needed. She answered what inquiries she could, like one asking if the Governor could come and speak at Madden Elementary School, to celebrate Casimir Pulaski Day. Easy answer, it wasn’t going to happen.

The ones she couldn’t answer, like the request from a European Pharmaceutical for information about possible tax incentives to relocate, she would pass on to Deputy Chief Ross, and from his office it would go up the chain, if need be.

In the background, the pretty blond talking head from Fox news argued animatedly, with a smaller head, in a box to her left. The volume on the wall mounted flat screen was usually kept off to avoid distraction, but Maresa could not ignore Philippe’s incessant staring, as though mesmerized by the silent debate.

 “Come on Phil, watch the yammering bimbo on your own time…”  Her words trailed off, as she read the chyron running across the bottom of the picture.

The Army National Guard had been called in to help quell a disturbance at a Florida hospital, no terrorism suspected so far, at least 12 dead, no word on a cause or any time estimate for a resolution.

As Maresa and Philippe watched & read, their attention was drawn to the live footage box, above and to the right of the blond. It was a slowly panning helicopter view of the outside of the hospital, and what looked like two people, had just fallen or jumped through a third floor window, crashing to the ground. Large and small bits of glass glinted in the sun, scattered around & between the two bodies. The camera zoomed in, as a dark pool was already growing around one of the forms. The other body stirred, then jumped up and sprinted off, one arm grotesquely flailing in wrong directions, then the small screen turned black.

“Was that real?” Philippe asked, after a few seconds of slack jawed silence.

“I… don’t know, it kind of looked like stunt men, right?” Maresa said, grabbing the remote to turn up the volume.

The blond was quiet, looking down slightly and holding one hand to the side of her head, engrossed in whatever instructions were being fed to her earbud.

The squinty eyed man in the small box to her left was still saying “…and if this administration can’t find a way to…” as she cut him off.

“Sorry Bill… um, yes… we apologize to any viewers offended by the… uh, disturbing footage that appeared on our live screen…” She nervously shuffled some papers.

“…we will certainly have more on that story soon.” The live screen was still black, but a moment later the black was replaced by an aerial view of an oil platform in the Gulf of Mexico.