Machivelli & Icarus
2024.11.27 04:50 hdfidelity Machivelli & Icarus
"Machiavelli & Icarus" Chapter 1: The Seed of a Plan The Old Man didn’t look like much. Greasy white hair clung to a liver-spotted scalp, and his wiry frame disappeared into the too-large institutional scrubs. He shuffled when he walked and squinted like the fluorescent lights stabbed his eyes. To the untrained observer, he was just another relic shelved by a family who found him inconvenient.
But Rye, the Young Man, had been watching him for weeks. Something about the Old Man didn’t add up.
“Mr. Gaspari,” Rye said one day, sliding into the seat across from him in the rec room. The Old Man was playing chess against himself, one side black, the other white. The game was in its final stages, a flurry of captured pawns and a lone black king waiting to be cornered.
“You’re wasting my time,” Gaspari grumbled, moving a knight.
“You’ve got nothing but time,” Rye said with a grin.
The Old Man smirked without looking up. “Shows how much you know. Time’s the only thing I’ve got left to lose, kid.”
Rye hesitated. “You don’t belong here, do you?”
Gaspari leaned back, chuckling low and raspy. “No one belongs here. That’s the trick. But let me guess—you think you’ve got me figured out. You think I’m hiding something.”
Rye leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You are hiding something. The way you talk to the orderlies, the way you’re always watching the guards—like you’re waiting for something.”
Gaspari finally met Rye’s eyes. The intensity there caught Rye off guard. It wasn’t the tired, hollow look of the truly insane. It was sharp. Calculating.
“You know,” Gaspari said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial tone, “there’s an airfield not ten miles south of here. They keep a little Carunado plane there. It’s been sitting there for years, gathering dust. Not worth selling, not worth scrapping.” He gestured vaguely. “A relic, like me.”
Rye raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you’re gonna fly out of here?”
Gaspari grinned. “Not gonna. Could. There’s a difference.”
“You’re crazy,” Rye said, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his voice.
Gaspari shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ll let you in on a secret—crazy and brilliant are the same thing when it’s past midnight and no one’s looking.”
Rye snorted, leaning back. “And what? You’re just gonna walk to the airfield? What about gas? What about money? What about—”
Gaspari cut him off with a raised finger. “Questions, questions. The trick isn’t having all the answers, kid. The trick is asking the right ones. For instance...” He gestured at Rye. “How much do you trust me?”
Rye blinked. “I just met you.”
Gaspari chuckled. “Then you’re smarter than most.” He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “But here’s the thing—you don’t have to trust me. You just have to trust you’ll get something out of this.”
Rye hesitated, his mind racing. He wasn’t sure if Gaspari was delusional or dangerous—or worse, both. But there was a spark in him, something Rye hadn’t felt in months: the possibility of escape.
“I’ll think about it,” Rye said finally, standing up.
Gaspari returned to his chessboard, his grin widening. “Oh, you’ll do more than think, kid. That I can guarantee.”
Chapter 2: The Escape Hatch Rye didn’t sleep that night. He lay on the thin cot, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling, replaying Gaspari’s words over and over. The Old Man was crazy—that much was obvious. But was he crazy enough to actually pull this off?
By the time the morning light bled through the barred window, Rye’s pulse was racing. He found Gaspari in the courtyard after breakfast, perched on a bench like a bird waiting to take flight.
“Okay,” Rye said, dropping into the seat beside him. “Let’s say I’m in. What’s the plan?”
Gaspari didn’t look at him. Instead, he gestured toward a security camera mounted on the wall above.
“You see that?” he said. “Blind spot to the left. They don’t even bother covering it. Amateur work. Now, the key is timing. Shift change happens at 4:00 p.m. sharp. There’s a 90-second window when the guards at the north gate are swapping posts. That’s our out.”
“Our?” Rye repeated.
Gaspari finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I was doing this alone, did you? I need someone young, someone fast. Someone who can...” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “...blend in.”
Rye frowned. “And what’s in it for me?”
Gaspari smirked. “Freedom, for one. And maybe, just maybe, a taste of the high life.” He leaned closer. “Ever seen a million bucks, kid? I’m not talking Monopoly money.”
Rye’s throat went dry. He’d heard rumors about Gaspari’s lottery win, the family squabble that landed him here. If even half of it was true...
“And how do I know you’re not just stringing me along?” Rye asked.
Gaspari leaned back, spreading his arms. “You don’t. But if you’d rather rot here, be my guest. I’m offering you a shot. You want guarantees, go talk to your therapist.”
Rye glanced around the courtyard. The other patients shuffled aimlessly, their faces blank and defeated. He didn’t want to end up like them.
“Fine,” he said, his voice low. “I’m in. What do I have to do?”
Gaspari’s grin widened. “Atta boy. First, we need to stage a diversion.”
Gaspari had swiped them from the staff lounge days ago, tucking them into the folds of his mattress. At 3:58 p.m., he handed them to Rye, who stood trembling near the janitor’s closet.
“You sure this is gonna work?” Rye whispered.
“Trust the process,” Gaspari said. “Now, go.”
Rye swallowed hard and stepped into the closet. The Old Man had been meticulous in his instructions: stuff the laundry chute with sheets, strike a match, and drop it in.
By the time the smoke alarm blared, Gaspari was already in position. He approached the north gate guard, a gruff man with a permanent scowl.
“Help!” Gaspari cried, clutching his chest. “Heart attack!”
The guard hesitated, torn between protocol and the wheezing old man before him. Gaspari doubled over, clutching at the man’s sleeve.
“Code blue in the courtyard!” the guard shouted into his radio, waving for backup.
Gaspari winked at Rye as he collapsed to the ground.
The second the guard turned his back, Rye slipped past him and darted toward the fence. Gaspari had rigged a loose section with wire cutters stolen from the tool shed weeks ago. Rye yanked it open and crawled through, his heart pounding in his ears.
Moments later, Gaspari was at his side, moving with a speed that belied his age.
“You’re faster than you look,” Gaspari said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“And you’re stronger than you look,” Rye shot back, breathless.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, kid. Come on—we’ve got a plane to catch.”
Rye stared at it, his stomach sinking. “You didn’t mention it was falling apart.”
Gaspari rolled his eyes. “Details, details. You want a Learjet, go hijack one yourself. Now, help me with the tarp.”
They worked quickly, uncovering the plane and siphoning the buried fuel into its tank. Gaspari moved with the precision of a man who had planned this moment for years.
“Where’d you learn to fly?” Rye asked as Gaspari climbed into the cockpit.
“Picked it up here and there,” Gaspari said, flipping switches.
“That’s not reassuring,” Rye muttered, buckling into the passenger seat.
The engine roared to life, coughing and sputtering before settling into a low hum. Gaspari grinned, gripping the controls.
“Ready, kid?”
“No,” Rye said, clutching the armrest.
Gaspari laughed. “Too late for second thoughts. Here we go!”
The plane lurched forward, bumping down the runway before lifting into the sky. Rye’s stomach dropped as the ground fell away beneath them.
For the first time in years, he felt alive.
Chapter 5: The Oasis and the Mirage The flight was rough, the plane shaking like a tin can in a storm. Gaspari hummed an old jazz tune, oblivious to Rye’s white-knuckled grip on the armrest.
“How long till we get to... wherever we’re going?” Rye asked, his voice tight.
“Patience, kid,” Gaspari said, leaning forward to squint at the horizon. “We’re heading to my first little hidey-hole. You’ll see.”
Hours later, they descended over a desolate stretch of desert. Rye saw nothing but endless dunes, but Gaspari maneuvered the plane like a man who had done this before. He landed on a narrow strip of dirt, skidding to a stop near a weathered shack half-buried in sand.
“This is it?” Rye asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.
Gaspari chuckled. “Not much to look at, huh? But this shack’s worth more than a McMansion in Malibu.”
They climbed out, and Gaspari led Rye to a spot behind the shack. He crouched down, brushing sand away to reveal a metal hatch.
“Give me a hand,” Gaspari said. Together, they heaved the hatch open, revealing a ladder that led down into darkness.
“What’s down there?” Rye asked.
Gaspari grinned. “A little piece of the future.”
They climbed down into a small bunker. Inside were crates of supplies, stacks of fuel canisters, and a safe bolted to the floor. Gaspari opened the safe and pulled out a bundle of cash wrapped in rubber bands.
“This,” he said, tossing it to Rye.
Rye caught it, his eyes wide. “How much is this?”
“Enough to make a memory or two,” Gaspari said, pulling out another bundle for himself. “You earned it, kid. Go nuts.”
Rye stared at the cash, his mind racing. He hadn’t held this much money in his life.
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’ve got my own plans,” Gaspari said, slipping a flask from his pocket. “We’ll rest here tonight, then head to the second spot in the morning. For now, enjoy the spoils.”
Rye didn’t need to be told twice. He hit every bar and diner in town, splurging on greasy burgers, overpriced cocktails, and a shiny new leather jacket he spotted in a pawn shop window.
Gaspari kept a low profile, nursing a drink at the corner of a bar while Rye reveled in his newfound freedom. The Old Man’s eyes tracked every move Rye made, his expression unreadable.
By the third day, Rye had grown careless. He rented a room at the nicest hotel in town, flashing cash at every bellhop and concierge. He was half-asleep when the authorities burst into his room.
“Hands where I can see them!” one officer barked, yanking the dazed Rye out of bed.
Rye barely had time to process what was happening before he was handcuffed and hauled into the back of a patrol car.
“Where’s Gaspari?” one of the officers demanded.
“I... I don’t know,” Rye stammered.
The truth was, he didn’t. Gaspari had vanished overnight, leaving Rye to face the fallout alone.
“You’re looking at some serious charges, kid,” the detective said, pacing in front of him. “Grand theft, flight from custody... not to mention aiding and abetting.”
Rye said nothing, staring at the table.
The detective leaned closer. “Give us Gaspari, and maybe we cut you a deal.”
Rye looked up, meeting the detective’s gaze. “I don’t know where he is. He ditched me.”
“Convenient,” the detective muttered.
Rye was sent back to the mental hospital, his brief taste of freedom snatched away. He spent the first few weeks in a haze of anger and humiliation.
But as time passed, he found himself replaying Gaspari’s words, his sly grin, the look in his eyes when he handed Rye the cash.
The Old Man had played him, sure. But he’d also given him something he’d never had before: a glimpse of possibility.
Then, one day, a package arrived. It was unmarked, addressed to him in neat, blocky handwriting.
Inside was a postcard.
On the front was a picture of a tropical beach, the kind you’d see in a travel magazine.
On the back was a single line:
“Next time, kid, don’t spend it all in one place.”
Rye’s lips twitched into a smile. For the first time in months, he felt alive again.
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