Chapter Two Thousand Seven Hundred and Seventy-Nine
23rd June 1979
Neuquén, Argentina
It was cold, clear, and windy as the car was parked on the edge of the taxiway. Kiki had done her best to keep in contact with the members of her family over the prior months, it wasn’t easy though because of the distances involved and how many hours she had been working in the clinic. That was why the arrival of her father came as a complete surprise. She had only found out that he was coming when her father had only been a couple hours away.
The airport west of Neuquén City could be called rustic if you were being charitable, downright primitive if you were not. Built with servicing the local industry and the needs of the Argentine Airforce in mind, comfort had been the last thing on anyone’s mind. There was talk of building a modern terminal building. Like everything else in Neuquén as Kiki had discovered, it was something that had been pushed off into the future and presumably better days. The needs of the community could easily have changed by then and new plans would need to be made, leading to further delays. The concrete airstrip with airplanes, mostly locally produced versions of Junkers Civil Aircraft from the last forty or so years, parked along the taxiway.
Kiki recognized the plane that landed as one of the twin-engine turboprops that was favored by the organizations her father financed. As far as she knew, no one in Argentina had managed to obtain a license to construct the Feisler Kranich yet. Though if her father continued to operate the planes in the Southern Cone, it was only a matter of time.
It seemed to Kiki that her father was enjoying retirement far more than he ever had when he had been Emperor. He was playing the role of activist and philanthropist without having to answer to anyone or make any of the life and death decisions that Kiki knew haunted him. He had involved himself in the arts, mostly in the form of Classical Music, and had been one of the earliest backers of Médecins sans Frontières. Kiki understood full well that in Germany there had only been two Emeritus Emperors, Wilhelm the 2nd and his grandson, Kiki’s father. Decades after his abrupt retirement, most historians were of the opinion that Wilhelm the 2nd had not been a great Emperor and his successor Wilhelm the 3rd had had absolutely no business playing that role. The death of Kiki’s uncle in the Spanish War had prevented there from being a Wilhelm the 4th and the fact that no boy in the House of Hohenzollern born after that had been named Wilhelm spoke for itself. Louis Ferdinand had assumed the role of designated Heir at that point, just in time to lead the Empire through the Second World War and in the turmoil that followed. It was small wonder why he would be happy to be free of that sort of responsibility.
As the plane taxied to a stop and the engines shut down, Kiki opened the door to the car followed by Nina and Lutz. Making sure that her children kept a hold of her hands, she waited for what would be a happy reunion. When the ramp on the Kranich dropped Kiki saw it was not her father, but Kiki’s youngest sister Annet who emerged.
“So this is Patagonia?” Nan asked with a smile.
“A small part of it” Kiki replied.
Nan seemed like she was well to Kiki; far happier than how she was most of the time. The grey insulated coveralls and aviator sunglasses were what Nan was most comfortable wearing. Possibly the least fashionable clothes on the planet, right up there with the white lab coat that Kiki wore when she was at work. A few other people were walking down the ramp on unsteady legs. A long flight in a Kranich with Nan at the controls was not for the faint of heart, not because she took risks but because she knew exactly what the plane was capable of and exploited that to the fullest extent.
“Poppa said that he thought that you needed help” Nan said, “So he found some volunteers interested in coming here along with the supplies he thinks you might find useful.”
This was unexpected. Kiki was sure that her father would give her the specifics when he got a chance. That was when Kiki’s father walked down the ramp and was nearly pulled off her feet by Nina and Lutz. Letting go of their hands, Kiki saw them run to her father with cries of “Opa!”
Oakland, California
Ritchie was sitting in California’s infamous traffic while on his way back to the airport so that he could go back to his family for a few days before getting on another airplane. He had felt obligated to attend what had happened early that morning in San Quentin State Prison. Ritchie had been a Soldier or a Police Officer for his entire adult life. Though the United States had not been officially at war for that whole time, he had still seen death in many forms. Accidents happened and as an Advisor to allied militaries, there had been the results of direct enemy action. The night before had been different though. Watching a man choak to death in a steel chamber filled with hydrogen cyanide gas had not been pleasant to watch.
Dickie Scott had been a sociopath who had killed without the slightest bit of remorse and as they had led him into the chamber the night before, Ritchie had seen the look on his face and realized that nothing had changed. This was still the same guy who had shot up the school that had expelled him leaving dozens killed and wounded. Ritchie had been one of the first Officers on the scene and had put three rifle bullets into him from only a few yards away. Oddly he had been criticized for not doing a better job of it. The truth was that some people got very lucky sometimes, three bullets not hitting anything immediately vital was exactly that. Dickie’s luck had finally run out as the appeals process had been pursued down several dead ends and the date of his execution just happened to come down at a time when Pat Brown, the Governor of California, was expecting a strong challenge the next time he was up for reelection.
Ritchie had watched it all. The guards had dragged Dickie in, strapped him into the chair before closing the heavy steel door. The Warden had read a short statement, detailing the multitude of crimes that Dickie had been convicted of, how with the State having deemed him beyond the possibility of rehabilitation it was hoped that the sentence would deter others from following the path he had gone down.
The whole thing had left Ritchie feeling hollow. How many times had he heard other Officers saying that someone deserved to fry? They probably thought that justice had been done. All Ritchie could think of was about how it had not brought back any of Dickie’s victims.
