When Lucky awoke the next morning, she was in a better mood.  She ordered a bowl of fresh fish in cream, with the chef given permission to select what he thought looked best for me.  For herself, she ordered a caviar omelette topped with smetana.  She requested potatoes, asparagus as her sides.  She got a croissant with a framboise confiture to go with it all.  What I got was a foretaste of heaven. How I love fresh fish in cream in the morning. It smells like breakfast. Who needs napalm?

You’d have to have been a real chowderhead not to notice the Russians were on defence and the Chinese offence.  Through backchannels I learnt that Putin had cancelled a tour of central Africa.  Not even my L’Afrique Aujourd’hui features had saved him.  The people are fickle.

You could now listen to hour on hour of African radio without hearing Putin compared to Jesus, Patrice Lumumba, Amin, Bokasssa, Mobutu, or any other leaders with a following, even if a very bad one.  I wondered to myself if it was anything that a few Krugerrand spent on making me happy couldn’t fix.  Yes, I could tell some stretchers and rehabilitate him in Francophone Africa if the price is right. 

During my time without CNN, I learnt Lord Caligula had gone bold.  He passed a motion in the House of Lords to present Constance with the King George Cross.  The Tabloids had lots of indecent photos of her getting out of a limo at Parliament to go accept her awards.

Photographers have no shame.  The post shots of Constance’s nether parts as she exited the limo.  Constance had once mentioned to me that she was allergic to wearing panties, as it made her feel inhibited. Well, I now knew that, at least when in a Limo, Constance was telling lies about that.  

And it didn’t stop at a beaver shot.  If you nosed about or read the stories, every orgy Constance had attended–I can’t be precise as my parietal lobe  damage prevents me from counting so high–had links on the web to the photos sneaked during it.  If you wanted photos of her doing anything, and I do mean anything and everything, sexual, all you required to find them was a laptop and patience and search terms like “Constance” and “Orgy.”

Constance said she could and would neither confirm nor deny what the countless photos purported to show.  During an interview on CNN, she gave her account, “As you know, so many of these photos are from the neck down.  Many attractive women look about the same from the neck down.  Also, notice how bad the lighting is in many of these shocking shots.  Who know who is in these photos? Let’s just not be judgemental prudes.  Observe, too, there are not a lot of duplicative shots of racy act, especially the outre ones.  And you know what Voltaire said about those types doings.  ‘once a philosopher, twice a pervert.’ As worse, I might be a philosopher”  

Nor was Lord Caligula silent.  He contended it was all much ado about nothing, a veritable tempest in a teapot.  What bothered his Lordship most was, if these were indeed photos of Constance, the cheapskate press never let her monetize any of it.  “Where are her modelling fees?” he thundered. 

Constance wasted no time in monetizing the episode.  In several smut Mags, she posed deshabille whilst using the George Cross to cover up most of her good bits.  In her defence about this breach of decorum, Constance told an interviewer, “You got to show some of the juicy bits if you are going to shield them with the George.  Who’s go to pay hard cash for it if you don’t?”  

In the midst of all this controversy, Peregrine and Wolverine had begun a blitz reconstruction of Munitions Galore’s Reading HQ.  The government had even given them a bye to hire replacements of lost guards from former colonies to prevent a rise in salaries.  English guards, now that they knew the danger of the job, struck for higher pay.  Peregrine got permission, in the name of national security, to hire cheaper foreign guards rather than a pack of English crybabies.  

Eventually, Wolverine figured out I was at the Hotel 27, he contacted me.  “Name a time when Lucky’s out.  I want to talk to you.”

I checked to make sure that we were talking about a Zoom or Skype meeting. Wolverine’s temper made it stupid for me to meet him without a bodyguard present.  

Lucky had told me she planned an outing to the Rembrandt museum.  I refused to go with her. I’ve never care for Rembrandt’s brownish painting or his self-absorbed self-portaits.  I’m more of a Poussin cat.  Poussin’s “Dance to the Music of Time” or “Exhibition of Moses” are to my taste.  I’m also fond of Pre-Raphaelite art.  Don’t judge me.  I like clarity and colour.

I also prefer Mozart to Bach or Beethoven.  Bach composed music for typists.  Beethoven wrote mostly sentimental works for crybabies that weep when they read Goethe’s Sorrows of Young Werther.  If you ask me, the sorrow of young Werther is that he didn’t kill himself before the book got started.

Anyway, Lucky went to the museum.  When Wolverine called, I got a shock. He was wearing a US Army Major’s uniform. 

I guess he resurrected one of the identifies he had forged at Fort Leonard Wood.  Then I learnt he was not at Fort Leonard Wood or in Saint Louis to steal documents from the NGA.  Wolverine told me he was in Brussels at the NATO HQ.  What a treasure trove of items to steal and Wolverine with his TS SCI, Q, and Cosmic TS clearances.   And he bragged of attending meetings where he spiked intelligence that Lord Caligula had made up for him.  

Soon he got down to business, telling me he wished me to write stories insinuating that the Jews had committed foul murders in Somalia.  It was also the Jews who committed the outrage in Lithuania.  According to Wolverine, I needed a light touch for these stories.  I must not say the accusation.  I must insinuate it was the Jews abetted by the Chinese.  

I shuddered.  I feared picking a fight with Lucky.  “Can’t I a blame the Germans instead?”  

Wolverine broke out laughing.  “The Germans?  The Jews collaborating with Germans?  You’re daffier than Daffy Duck, Crocky.  Besides, his Lordship wants Emperor Xi made less comfortable about his recent doings.  Mind you, if you think you can tar the German and French whilst you smear the Jews and Chinese, I’m fine with that.  We want a great confusion about Somalia.”  After he mentioned payment in pretty Krugerrand, I couldn’t help myself.  I began to purr.