Chapter Two Thousand Three Hundred Forty-Nine
5th January 1975
Mill Valley, California
“We are building a production facility up north near Novato” George said, “My people think that we will be able to push special effects ever further.”
“Now that you can just throw money at any technical problems” Gerta replied, “I assume it has gotten easier.”
George just shrugged.
“We also have big name studios lining up to work with us once this latest film is complete” George said, “We are in the midst of principal photography right now.”
Gerta knew that George was in an enviable position and as one of his key backers, she was making out quite well from the investment. The trouble was that she had read the script for the latest film, one that she knew would challenge the audience. In her experience, in mass media people didn’t typically like being challenged. They wanted escapism and Gerta didn’t know how an exploration on the nature of war and human nature through a Zen Buddhist lens would sit with them. Particularly the part where it sinks for the protagonists that victory is ultimately out of their reach and that they are just repeating a bloody cycle.
At the same time, George had seen his vision through in the first two movies and the results spoke for themselves. Gerta wasn’t about to scuttle the project by cutting off the money, still she, along with many others had concerns and that was why she was in Mill Valley having a breakfast meeting with George after spending most of the previous day flying from Bohemia and getting a taste of the infamous California traffic. It was like they were allergic to any sort of transit other than their cars and it showed with the crawling pace from the San Francisco Airport to Marin County.
“As I am sure you know, the investors have concerns” Gerta said, “Mostly about the commercial viability of this film.”
“They always do” George replied, “That is what happens when you push the limits.”
“That is like driving fast” Gerta said, “Right up until you discover that there is a reason why roads have guard rails and the worst that happens is that you damage your car because you took a turn too fast.”
“That is one way to look at it” George replied.
Gerta knew from the way he said it, that in the future George would discover that having people unwilling to tell him “No” would ultimately be to his detriment.
Rome, Italy
The mood in the capital was odd, if Cosimo de Medici had to describe it he might have called it restrained jubilation.
News had reached Rome that Vittorio Emanual, Prince of Naples, and Heir to the Italian throne had taken the switchbacks of the Stelvio Pass at high-speed in his Ferrari 365 GTS/4 “Daytona” while in what everyone was assuming he was in the intoxicated state that he had more or less been in for the last decade and had missed a turn with fatal results. Cosimo felt that it was quite tragic because that had been a really nice car. There were already rumors that it had actually been an assassination, Cosimo knew that was a load of bullshit. Mostly because if that actually were the case, he would been the one rig the brakes on Vittorio’s car. Ironically, it had been the topic of conversations that Cosimo had with Umberto on several different occasions.
King Umberto of Italy and Queen Marie-José were understandably upset over the death of their oldest son. They were in seclusion with their daughters being the only ones allowed to see them and it had fallen on Cosimo, in his newly official role as the Marchese of Siena and King’s Consigliere to keep Umberto’s office in order during his absence.
Even before this, things had not been well in the royal household over the last couple years. Umberto had been pressuring Vittorio to take the responsibilities of his role seriously, presumably that involved marriage and producing an adequate heir. The trouble was that the Prince’s reputation as a playboy preceded him, and no woman of suitable birth wanted anything to do with him. There were also a number of illegitimate children whose claims of paternity would further snarl matters in the years ahead.
The only people more upset were the leadership of Movimento per una Repubblica Italiana. They had just lost the greatest ally that they had ever known. Cosimo couldn’t imagine that Prince Amedeo Giovanni of Aosta was happy with this development. He was serving Italy as the Captain commanding the RN Audace, a Destroyer that was regarded as one of the finest ships in the Italian Navy. He had been guarding Italian interests in the Dodecanese Islands against the day that the Greeks and Turks do something stupid again. Cosimo knew that because one of his sons, Cesare, was an Officer in the Italian Army and he had seen Amedeo in Rhodes just a few days earlier. Word was that he had been ordered to return to Rome by the most expeditious means.
Messages of condolence were coming in from around the world and Cosimo flipped through them. The American President Nixon had sent one. Kaiser Friedrich IV of Germany was next, he was the closest thing that Vittorio ever had to a genuine friend. Too bad he didn’t follow the German Kaiser’s example in how to conduct himself. There was one from Princess Kristina zu Hohenzollern, Friedrich’s younger sister who had once been seen as a possible match for Vittorio. She had threatened to join a celibate religious order in response. While that might have been the first time that had happened, it wouldn’t be the last. There were dozens more that were coming in and it struck Cosimo as a very cynical exercise. As if any of these people were experiencing anything other than relief that Italy’s problematic Crown Prince was now out of the picture.
