Wonder Woman in Rome #4

Wonder Woman was created by Dr William Moulton Marston in 1941 and is the © copyright trademark of DC Comics. My Wonder Woman stories are only fan fiction and based, primarily, on the 1970s CBS TV show (albeit, updated to the present time of writing). However, any resources from adaptations and the comics may be utilised. All characters are entirely fictional. With the exception of Diana / Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor, the story and characters are my own creation, unless otherwise stated. In my stories there are no other superheroes in the world, except for Wonder Woman.

 

04 When in Parioli

The transatlantic flight from New York to Rome was a long one; not that Christopher Dalton had noticed; his mind was still buzzing after reading all Diana Prince’s previous cases which recorded Wonder Woman having intervened. What he couldn’t figure out was how she was able to rescue Agent Prince at precisely the right time. Any surveillance cameras, at the scenes, were always blacked out just before the super-heroine appeared; there must be a link between the two. These thoughts he presided over while climbing into the first floor of Cardinal Mendo’s apartment in the Roman district of Parioli, during the early hours of Sunday morning.

He found himself in a small personal library with the only light emanating from the flames in the fireplace. There was a desk with the back of a large mahogany chair facing towards the fire.

“There’s a chill in the air, tonight, Mr Dalton,” a gentleman said swivelling his seat around to face the I.A.D.C agent, “I’m Cardinal Mendo.”

Mendo was without his collar, wearing a deep purple dressing gown. His fingertips were placed against one another, as if in reflection.

“You’re quite welcome to risk your life using my first floor window for entry, but most people find the front door a much easier prospect.”

Dalton grinned and pulled out his Beretta M9 handgun. “Okay, wise cracker, time to spill. Who are you? How have you heard of me? And what are you after?”

Mendo pulled a wry smile, “Why do you Americans always assume the best way to get a man to talk is by putting a bullet through his brain?

But, I suppose, if we are to do business, we need to co-operate for the greater objective in mind. I am a spy of sorts for the church, however you won’t be able to trace me on any record. My mission is to seek out miracles wherever they occur – and who better to investigate than a wonder woman?     

Sadly, I’ve found she isn’t anything like Florence Nightingale. I was there on the top of the Eiffel Tower, you see, when poor Karen Harris felt propelled to jump off before Wonder Woman gave her the heave-ho. You felt it too, didn’t you, the evil of the moment?”

Those words had spoken to Dalton. He relaxed his aim and slumped in a near armchair. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess, I did.”

“And there are numerous other examples of people whom have lost their lives for no other reason than getting in the way of Wonder Woman,” told Mendo.

He leaned forward, sensing a breakthrough with the I.A.D.C agent, “We can put an end to her reign of destruction. Are you with me, Mr Dalton?”

Christopher placed his gun on a coffee table and looked straight down at the floor, resting his head on his hands. It could have been the jet-lag catching up with him, or the intensity of the situation, but either way he found the Cardinal incredibly imposing - if not hypnotically persuasive. 

“How?” he asked.

“Simply make sure Diana Prince is at the Colosseum by fifteen hundred hours, today.” 

“Why get Diana involved? She’s a colleague, I don’t want to see her hurt,” protested Dalton.

“As you well know, where Miss Prince goes, Wonder Woman usually follows. In fact, you might term them inseparable. Now, follow my instructions, Mr Dalton, and all will be revealed in the fullness of time…”

The sound of a phone beeping louder jolted Diana out of her sleep, at her bedside, in the Rome American Hospital. 

“Steve, is that you?” she answered.

“Yes, it’s me, Diana, how is the patient?” replied Trevor.

“Err, the patient is groggy and - ouch!” squeaked Diana, as she pressed her hand over the left side of her neck.  

“That’ll be the nick in your neck with three stitches,” Trevor rightly supposed, cheerily, “The doctor said you’re lucky the throwing star didn’t puncture a major artery.”

“Well, I don’t feel very lucky at the moment, Steve,” Diana sighed.

“Then, this will cheer you up. Your hunch about Louis Cesario was right - he’s in trouble. Cesario made several bad investments backing banks that later collapsed during the financial crisis. In addition, he’s racked up huge gambling debts to casinos right around the world, one of which is owned by a Russian neo-Nazi donor, called Marat Osinov. He may be marrying the princess for her inherited fortune.”

“I can tell you his loyalty to Rosetta is suspect,” confessed Diana.

“What I don’t get is where the Divina Key fits into all of this. I can’t see someone like Cesario chasing some folklore treasure trove,” pondered Trevor.

“I’m not sure, Steve, but Cesario is evidently a high roller. He’s used to taking big risks. Maybe the Divina Key is a leap of faith by a ludomaniac.”

After the phone call, Diana began to fall back a sleep until a disturbance was heard outside her room.

“Get off me, jackass, I’m seeing Prince whether you like it or not.”

The door burst open with Christopher Dalton shaking off an Italian police guard. Inspector Sergio Nico followed behind.

“Diana mi dispiace,” Nico sighed.

“It’s all right, Sergio,” Diana replied, “Meet Christopher Dalton, the Head of European Operations for the IADC.”

The two men reluctantly shook hands. Dalton was a few inches taller, and had a firmer handshake, but Nico wasn’t the kind to be easily intimidated; he passively returned the taller man’s stare without reacting.

“The situation is somewhat embarrassing for me,” admitted Sergio, “I’m not here for your protection, Miss Prince, but to question you over your involvement in the theft of the Divina Key of Belle Terra from Princess Rosetta suite. Two assigned protection officers have stated you doped them with coffee before you fell unconscious, yourself, at the hands of the Lost Siren.”

“Inspector, the officers are lying. Serena Rocca, the Lady-In-Waiting, is the Lost Siren and a Nazi,” informed Diana.

“Unfortunately, for you,” regretted Sergio, “Miss Rocca is nowhere to be found. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in custody till we can establish the facts.”

“Jesus!” uttered Dalton, “Hey, Sergio, how about you you give us a ten minute time out here?”

Once the Inspector had left the room, Dalton shared his real intention, “Get your clothes on under the bedding, Diana, we’re breaking out of here right now.”

“For once, Chris,” Diana replied, “I’m in total agreement with you. What’s the plan?”

“A little assassination stunt,” he responded, taking out his Berretta handgun from his jacket.

Dalton took a shot upwards through the window, towards the roof on the other side. The glass frame shattered into pieces on the floor. Nico and a guard rushed into the room to see Dalton crouching under the window.

“There’s a hit man on the roof, get down!” Dalton warned.

As the unsuspecting officers knelt, Dalton and Diana dashed away down the corridor. They, luckily, flagged a cab outside the hospital and were gone before anybody had seen where they went. The taxi dropped them off at Dalton’s guest house back in Parioli. 

“Thanks for your assistance, today, Christopher,” Diana said, “But I must chase up a lead by myself.” 

“No, you stick with me now,” insisted Dalton, “We’ve got an important meeting at the Colosseum at fifteen hundred hours.“

“I’ll be there, I promise,” and with that she pulled away in the cab.

For Part 5 Click Here