[Chapter 394: Frank's Ex-Wife]
After dinner, Lola left the restaurant, got into her car, and waved goodbye as she drove off first.
Russell stood by the roadside, watching the champagne-colored BMW disappear before getting into his own Ford.
He buckled his seatbelt, pulled out his phone, and browsed through his contacts. After making a call that could not connect, he couldn't help but shake his head.
He had been living comfortably in Los Angeles for so long that he was almost forgetting that contact numbers beca useless after just one use.
He thumped the steering wheel, increasingly feeling that this task was ludicrous. The pro-Western faction above seed to want to prove their "innocence" to the West for political reasons, completely disregarding the hardships of their people who had been lurking for years.
Russell sighed and started the car to head ho. In Hollywood movies, spies were all like 007, Bourne, or Ethan, seemingly glamorous, overly important, and capable of anything.
In reality, they were just tools manipulated by politicians, often eting their ends due to nonsensical reasons. Russell still rembered the two female colleagues exposed by the newspapers; they were ordered to monitor a journalist who was anti-Russian propaganda 24/7 while pasting pro-Russian ads on a monunt. They got caught because the equipnt they were provided sent GPS signals along with the information.
Having spies who had been undercover for years pasting ads on a monunt was nothing short of absurd. Connecting this to his current assignnt, Russell envisioned a not-so-bright future. Yet, with orders given, even knowing it was impossible, he still had to go through with it.
Upon arriving ho, he took a shower, opened his Nokia phone, and started chatting excitedly with Lola through Twitter's direct ssage feature.
---
Century City, Fox Television Center.
The door to the office of Channel 11 was tightly shut, with no sounds coming from outside, but it was chaos inside.
gan Taylor was following the traditional thods of Roger Ailes, the chairman of Fox, as she sought assistance from Twitter's chairman, Hawke Osnt.
Inevitably, the office turned into a battleground.
Not long after, gan pulled Hawke into the suite's bathroom.
As they erged from inside, gan grabbed a hairdryer to help Hawke dry his hair while she stood in front of the mirror drying her own curly locks.
She turned to Hawke and raised her voice, saying, "So you've reached an understanding with Jas Murdoch, huh? All the print dia under News Corporation are running wild with stories about Russian spies."
"That's just part of the reason," Hawke replied as he finished getting dressed. "The primary point is that attacking Russia has a strong market among the public in North Arica; it's a mainstream viewpoint."
gan, having been in the dia industry for many years, felt deeply about this: "According to the rules of Arica, there always needs to be a powerful external enemy to maintain a relatively healthy operation. The Soviet Union has collapsed, and Russia, which has inherited most of its legacy, is the perfect target. "
Hawke agreed: "I've visited several congressional representatives and senators in Washington; their attitudes are unanimously anti-Russian, differing only in temperateness and intensity."
gan finished drying her hair and quickly walked over, extending a finger to playfully lift Hawke's chin, adopting a domineering executive pose as she asked, "Now that you've made your investnt, what do you want, Chairman Osnt?"
Hawke pulled her over to sit beside him, saying, "I just t with Jennifer Huey from the FBI before coming here; now that the evidence is conclusive, the case has been defined, we just need to fan the flas of public opinion. How about you create a special segnt about the case?"
gan inquired, "You an keep blowing hot air, steering public opinion?"
Hawke explained, "As long as the case stays within a certain level of influence, BlackRock's investnts or financing will beco much more difficult and costly, all of which will deplete their resources."
He laughed, "Jennifer has already received approval from her superiors to leak so information; she'll give you exclusive insights that can boost your ratings."
gan thought for a mont and replied, "Let's continue on Ace News."
Hawke added, "Here's a tip: next Monday, BlackRock's two top executives will co to Los Angeles for routine questioning at the FBI field office, and the Los Angeles U.S. Attorney's Office will be involved in the entire process."
gan made a note of it.
Hawke glanced at the ti and said, "I need to be going; reach out if anything cos up."
gan escorted him out and reminded him, "Jas Murdoch has a lot of conflicts with Roger Ailes; being too close to him could draw Roger's scrutiny."
"I'll be careful," Hawke said, slightly slowing his pace. "Roger Ailes sits comfortably in his position, known as the emperor of Fox Television Network, greatly supported by Rupert Murdoch for generating huge profits for News Corporation. Jas is Rupert's favorite son; in their conflicts, Jas's current ability falls short of being Roger's rival, yet Roger has never truly gained an upper hand in their struggles."
A smart woman like gan imdiately understood the implications: "One is the beloved son, and the other is the profitable subordinate. When the latter stops being profitable... or becos a liability, the outco will naturally be decided."
---
Hawke left the Fox Television Center and returned to the Coast Tower.
Upon entering the main entrance, he noticed Lola speaking to a big bearded man wearing a hard hat.
Seeing Hawke, Lola walked over to greet him.
Hawke's first acquisition when he founded Twitter was the company and website, Window blog, that led the way; one was now the head of the tech departnt's design division, Kasim, and the other was Lola.
Hawke looked at the workers busily pulling fiber optics for the new server group and asked, "Are you connecting fiber optics for the new server group?"
Lola simply replied, "Yes, to ensure smooth operations and security, each group of servers uses separate connections."
"Proceed, then," Hawke said as he headed upstairs.
Lola returned to oversee the work.
...
Russell adjusted his hard hat and curiously asked, "Is that Twitter's chairman?"
Lola nodded, "Yes, that's him, a legendary figure."
"It's rare to see images and reports about him," Russell took the opportunity to ask a few more questions, "Does he not do many dia interviews?"
Lola casually responded, "Hawke is a doer who rarely appears in the dia."
Russell didn't press further, saying, "The Oscars are coming up soon; how about we find a bar to watch the ceremony together?"
"Sounds good," Lola, who had worked hard to connect with Hollywood stars during Twitter's early days, had so interest in the entertainnt scene, responding, "You book a place!"
Russell said, "I'll call you once it's booked."
Lola didn't say anything else and quickly got back to work.
---
Beverly Hills, North Sunset Boulevard.
Not far from Marlon Brando's forr residence, a mansion comparable to Hawke's new ho sat atop a hillside.
This was the ho of movie star Jayne Mansfield from Hollywood's golden age.
At her peak, Jayne, known for her sexy appeal, earned the nickna "junior Marilyn Monroe"; she appeared on the cover of Playboy multiple tis and withdrew from the entertainnt industry after a car accident in the late 1960s, leading a reclusive life thereafter.
At that mont, Jayne donned a dress made entirely of bright red at and was carrying a goat's skull as she walked down a long staircase into the basent.
In the vast basent, several n and won donned black goat masks and were naked, draped in black cloaks.
Beneath their waists, each had markings of inverted pentagrams carved into goat skulls.
In the center of the gathering, a fierce fla burned, with a branding iron resting in the flas.
A masked figure approached stiffly, reporting, "Your Highness?"
Jayne nodded slightly and declared, "Let the ceremony begin."
The figure picked up the heated branding iron and stepped deeper into the darkness of the basent.
Soone turned on the daylight lamps, illuminating the room.
At the far end of the room, a girl was bound to a pillar.
Jayne recited incantations, while others followed her lead.
They spoke an ancient form of Latin that most people today would find difficult to understand.
The masked figure drew closer, and the branding iron fell in place.
With a sizzling sound and the stench of burning flesh, the girl, with her mouth taped shut, let out desperate screams.
Her body shook with pain.
Including Jayne, everyone fixed their eyes on the girl.
Minutes passed, and the girl did not pass out from the excruciating pain.
Jayne stopped her chanting and nodded, satisfied: "Excellent, under Satan's pressure, she hasn't fainted."
Another masked figure approached, "The leader has reminded us several tis."
Jayne tore a piece of raw flesh from her at dress: "Make her eat this; if she survives Satan's blessing, she will be sent to New York tomorrow."
The masked figure handed the piece of flesh to an underling and followed Jayne back inside.
They shut the basent door behind them as he said, "The senator from New York has been waiting a long ti for her next soul feast; regarding the leader's stance..."
Jayne raised her hand to interrupt him: "I will communicate with the leader. If this offering goes smoothly, we'll send it directly to New York tomorrow; her soul will be blessed by Satan, and that one will be able to indulge in the soul feast."
"Understood, Your Highness," the masked figure replied.
Jayne continued, "Your progress is too slow; the number of new recruits has been too few this past half-year."
The masked figure defended, "Due to the Ackerman Foundation's case explosion, all of Los Angeles is focused on the missing persons; we can only proceed cautiously to avoid compromising the church."
Jayne rely nodded casually and walked into the inner chamber. She was getting older, and wearing the heavy at dress beca increasingly tiring over ti.
A nearby maid hurriedly brought her a robe and draped it over her shoulders.
Jayne walked deeper into the residence, heading toward the bathroom.
Before she stepped in, she turned to look at a wall where an old wedding photo hung from decades ago.
Gazing at the man in the wedding photo, Jayne whispered, "Frank..."
*****
spatreon/Sayonara816.
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