Nepal, Part 1

Nepal.

Bella looked at the immense airplane. She was finally going to see her old friend. She felt a mix of joy and melancholy—what would he say, how would he react when he saw her? And his daughter? Now she must already be a young woman. She pushed those thoughts aside and boarded the aircraft. She took a deep breath.

The air was cold and came in through the open door of the large seaplane, with many people traveling to different parts of the world. She sat down in her seat, near the window.

The comfort of these modern planes was very good. Since they were first created and used for artillery purposes, they were now widely used to transport both military and civilians. Bella looked at the people outside, imagining what was going through their minds. Perhaps they were going to meet new people, visit family, live, just like her, a new adventure. Maybe even start life over somewhere else.

She leaned back in her seat. She was wearing her favorite travel outfit: a simple white dress, not too tight, with long sleeves, and also a white coat, since the cold of New York was extreme. Her hat, also white, was simple, with a feather coming out from the side. She pulled it slightly forward, covering her eyes. She took another deep breath. It would be a very long journey with stopovers in Hawaii and other capitals of the world. She would sleep through the whole trip.

Her heart still beat strongly at the thought of seeing her friend again, as well as Maria. She was anxious and also very resentful about seeing her. Would she still think about her? Did the resentment still exist? She took another deep breath. The hat covered her eyes, and, feeling the engines of the plane as it took off, she fell asleep.

What Bella Santos did not know, or even imagine could exist, was the man who was watching her. He lowered his newspaper, admiring her curves and presence. Miss Santos was a beautiful girl, young for the adventures she had already lived. He could very well have some fun with her and then kill her; that would solve many things for the Führer. But he had to follow protocol. Follow her to Nepal, find Abner’s house, find the medallion, and then put an end to the two girls and the man.

He raised the newspaper again, pretending to read. It would be a long journey—long enough for him to study her and learn what weaknesses hid behind that beautiful face.

Maria knew she had gone too far, but she liked it. Facing the man in front of her, the old Mr. Frey, she looked firmly into his eyes, before a large audience in her small bar in southern Nepal.

When she came with her father, Abner, she knew it would be a great adventure. Unfortunately, it had not been, and now she ran a bar in an attempt to earn money to go back home, but it was very difficult. The easiest way to get anything was through betting—drinking with someone to see who would pass out first.

Freitas looked into her eyes; she knew the old man was already at his limit. And she was too. He picked up the shot of liquor, laughed, and brought it to his lips. Then he emptied the glass and placed it on the table.

Now it was her turn. She picked up the glass, put the drink to her lips, and drank it all. Her mouth was already numb from alcohol, her throat anesthetized. It went down easily.

For a moment she felt unwell, her mind clouding, as if she would give in, as if she would fall.

The people around were already exchanging bet money, sure she would collapse.

—Wait! —she shouted. Her consciousness returning, her heart beating stronger.

She smiled, turned the glass, and placed it on the table.

The man’s hand in front of her trembled weakly as he picked up the glass and brought it to his lips. He laughed and then drank it all. His smile remained, but his body relaxed. He gave in, falling off the chair with a loud crash onto the floor. Maria had won.

Everyone had already left. Maria put her hands on her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She took the bet money and placed it in the cash box.

Someone appeared at the door—the shadow of a woman with long, wavy black hair. She turned around.

—Maria? —she said.

There was a certain pain in her eyes; her simple clothing still carried elegance. Despite who she was, she dressed with more mastery than the other girls. A black knee-length skirt, black stockings, and a Chinese-style blouse, closed at the neck. She was a very modest person.

—Well, well, if it isn’t Bella Santos —she said with mockery.

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