Fragment #99 - Flash back

"My real grandmother? Really?" I look at both of them, not believing what I'm hearing.
"Is it a joke? Or maybe the lastest technique from the FARC to distabilise hostages ? Well, gentlemen, bad news: it doesn't work on me." I resume my eating. I only hope they don't see my hands shaking very slightly. Dad was right. They know about a lot on us. I risk an eye on their faces. They look all the same, but I think they didn't expect that kind of reaction. Well, too bad for you guys, but at least I have a couple of defensive weapons left.
They try to talk about one thing and then the other, but give up soon, when they see, that I am not worried at all. A couple of minutes later, Rozia asks Frank to walk me back to my cell.
Funnily enough, this time, Frank doesn't take the same corridor. This one has got windows. It's night time. Well, at this time of the year, more than half the day is night time anyway. It looks as if it's slightly snowy and extremely flat. It could be anywhere in Europe really. Or thinking of it, of the world. Apart maybe from the Sahara desert and the Amazonian Forest. That helps a lot.
Back in the cell, I lay down and close my eyes as if I was going to sleep. I want to use the time I have alone to think over what Dad told me.

"I... I'm deeply sorry, Charlie."
"Sorry is not enough, Father. I want explanations; and truth, this time!"
"Ok, ok."
The scene is so fresh in my memory. My dad got up, and went to the bar to pour himself a glass of whisky. He looked at Steve and then at me.
"In front of Steve, Father. Like that, if something happens to me one day, at least someone who really cares for me will know the truth." My voice was so harsh... I remember how angry I was.
"Alright. Well... I don't even know where to start." He stopped for a while. "I don't know if you remember the time I was working in Africa?"
"Yes, a little. You told me about for the most I remember. I was too small to really have memories of my own."
"Right. I was, among other things, in charge of Visa regulation and emigration control towards France. Of course, Africa being Africa, there was a lot going on, and not all legal. But I never killed or helped to kill anybody. I swear on my life, Charlie, you must believe me! All that was illegal and that I sometimes did, was to give a visa to someone that would have been in trouble in their own country, and sometimes for money. I am not proud of that part of my past, and there is not one single minute of my life now when I don't regret it. Among those people, there has been a couple of times a guy called Marc Rozia. He travelled a lot. I supposed he was some kind of business man. Anyway. One day, he really got in trouble, and unfortunately for me, I helped him out. The Ambassador of the time, Mr Brunoys, found out about it. He is an old friend of my dad, and decided, for old times' sake, to speak to him about it first. My father, Frédéric Collomb, was quite a powerful man in his own time. And it was him who trained me and helped to get into that world of diplomats. He ordered me back home and sat me in his office. He asked me to tell him the story and all the other stories, if there was any. And then, he told me about that guy, Rozia. But what he told me, is not only what he is, but also how he can be dangerous to us, to our family, and how we should be careful not to attract his attention."
My dad sat down, and so did I because I knew somehow that what was coming would be big and hard to believe.
"My father never met Marc Rozia. But he knew all about him thanks to the secret services. That man is what could be called a Godfather. The only bug being that he is part of no family, of no mafia. Apparently, he has got his own group of followers. We know nothing about it, apart that they seem to be tracking - and killing when they found them - some very random people. The secret services couldn't make the link between those people. But my dad knew the link. He was part of those tracked people. The link was their belonging to some kind of Clan. They used to write in a newspaper or something like that. And their leader was a guy called Charly. The very guy Marc Rozia was after, according to the secret services. My dad couldn't tell me how many they were in that Clan, or any other details for his safety and - even more - my own. But he told me that he got really close friends with some of those people. So close, even, that one of them became his fiancée. That wasn't the usual story about my parents' meeting. Indeed! That woman was not your grandmother. She was called Michelle, and they were very in love. Soon, although they were not married yet, she was expecting a baby. And then, something happened that my dad wouldn't tell me. Michelle left, a couple of days after the baby - that is me - was born. My dad had to hire a nurse who would be discreet. And after a couple of year that she had been living with him and taking care of him and me, he realised he had fallen in love with her. They got married and life went on, me believing that my mother was Paulette as did my brothers. This information, the fact that I am the son of Michelle, is worth millions, according to my father. But he told me that it would also be the start of a lot of trouble if it came to be known. As a matter of fact, I never talked about it ever again, and neither did my dad. I mean, so far that I know."
The silence, at that moment, was so dense. I could almost touch it. Steve looked as if he wished he was somewhere else.
"But why? Is that Michelle a super hero? Has she given you an inheritance that people would be after?"
"In a way, yes. The way I understand what my father told me, Marc Rozia and his... fellows are not only after people of that Clan, but also after some people that the Clan was looking for and protecting. The inheritance that Michelle gave me, and the one I gave you too, was to be one of this people."
"But it doesn't make sense."
"No. It doesn't. I suppose the only one who could explain it to us, would be that Charly."

And after that, I got kidnapped.