NyLon! – chapter 26

Prestwick, Monday 1 November, local time 0600. Bonino emotionally taxing the plane from left to right and left again, decided to seize the cloche in her left hand and with the right one shackle the knob to give maximum power to the reactors. A couple of hours later I distantly recognized the feeble lights of Reykjavik. It still was local time 0600 premises and the moment to act had come. They were all sleeping in first class, except for Antonio Pisani Ceretta to whom I made the convened signal. Pisani Ceretta had a perfectly identical twin, whom could only be distinguished from because one of the two sporting a beard. In origin it was that of the same Pisani Ceretta, but he was incompatible with the surname and above all a cinematographic requirement had been manifested to equip of beard his twin Gabriele Sessarego to let him play the part of the number one public enemy public and worldwide wanted, the Chechen terrorist Olivier bin Dupuis. The infamous Walloon incarnation of the evil was accustomed to that, after having spent the last thousand days hidden in the depths of a Belgian mine, ruminating in the smallest details his terrible revenge against the blasphemous radicals that in that glorious Armagheddon finally would materialize. It had been the same mephistophelian bin Dupuis, thousand days before, to infiltrate me in the British Lib-Dem so that I could then infiltrate in the Italian radicals, foreseeing in his twisted and diabolically dark mind that the former would have tried to take over the latter with a hostile bid during the New York conference, where their the stakes and shareholders themselves would literally plummet a little later on. One could wonder why he hadn’t infiltrated me directly in the radicals leaving in peace the Lib-Dems, but the bin Dupuis’ ways are incrutable, especially leaving in peace someone and, above all, in order to get to this tenth chapter of shabby novellistic artifices available to us nerdy Bulgarian-Scot writers. His beard unfrozen, bin Dupuis looked around rolling in his little satanic eyes the never soothed rancour in an expression of mystical satisfaction that all went like foreseen in the imminence of paradise: bin Dupuis was talebanically catholic. He signalled to me to proceed in recovering the weapon. From the inner pocket of the deeply snoring Tosoni I extracted the collapsible Carlomanera and with Pisani Ceretta and the surprising factor we made irruption in the cockpit. Bonino wiggled in fury but shortly afterwards Pisani Ceretta succeeded in immobilizing her and envelopping her in the brown cellotape like an Egyptian mummy, while I worked hard in trying to stun Pannella carlomanerizing him in depth to the maximum power. Strange extraterrestrial animal. It looked like he enjoyed it appealed to it, showing himself somehow electrified. Just when the batteries were about to die, finally he lost consciusness and in the cellotape we also packaged the great nonviolent leader, the Abruzzo's mule was transformed in pregnant horse of the Troy-pregnant of this indecorous self-quotation. Carbonated and fusing, the carlomaneric phallic crucifix was by now a write-off, but in the name of the cause by it had been worth the sacrifice, moreover it did no longer be useful, having completed its function, mission, in allowing us to get hold of the gigantic human missile. Goodness knows, according to popular tradition after three days he would be re-born improvising itself heterosexual for centuries to come. At 0600 local time we entered the airspace controlled by the Halifax radar, welcoming us on the other side of the pond. We gladly radioed back posing as the Svirgin pilots, trained as we were by years spent listening to Radio radicale Radius to imitate I the Pannella’s coughs and Pisani Ceretta the Bonino’s zeta. A last, definitive requiem more couldn’t be more appropriated for the entire political party that - suspended in the air unaware of its imminent, ill-omened fate -, woke up at first sweetly with the change of pressure in descending and then definitively at the perception of the small collision with the air when I extracted the landing gear as soon as I entered in visual contact with the JFK at 0600 local time.