Death and Deception

by Seeley James

  “Indeed.” Amanow sneered. “I have the Poison Stone. What thing of value do you bring?”

  “A meeting with Pia Sabel and an informant in the Brotherhood.”

  “What good is Pia Sabel to us?”

  “She has meetings scheduled with four of our five prime targets.” Griffith couldn’t help but find Amanow annoying. “If you get everything in place, I can get her to include me in those meetings. And that means I can deliver the Poison Stone.”

  “Anyone can deliver the Poison Stone. We don’t need you.”

  “The Germans earmarked €30 million for security.” Griffith scoffed. “You plan to walk in as strangers and hand it to the German Chancellor and the Italian Prime Minister? Or do you think your remaining Knights can raid a place guarded by thousands of military and police officers?”

  Griffith watched Amanow’s smug demeanor weaken. Indeed, the man had planned to storm the conference. It wasn’t a bad plan in theory; the mountaintop research center being used for the meetings was a bad choice for security but a stunning choice for photo ops. And politicians gravitated to photo ops no matter what their security people told them. But it wasn’t the German’s first time hosting world leaders. There would be no rocks to crawl out from under.

  Griffith said, “I have business propositions of interest to the leaders we need to reach. Pia Sabel will help me drive these deals. That puts me in front of the leaders without a layer of security between us.”

  “You Americans.” Amanow scoffed. “You think everything is about money. Power does not come from money. It radiates from one person to another. If Vladimir Putin gives you a medal, all of Russia will bow to you. No amount of money can buy that.”

  “Does Putin believe in you?”

  “I too have connections,” Amanow said in a less-than-convincing voice.

  Griffith decided to let his silence speak for him. When Amanow retreated into his stoic look, Griffith said, “Your connections can get you face time with the leaders on our list?”

  “I have other methods of deploying the Poison Stone.”

  “Captain Amanow, remember the Protector expects us to succeed. If we fail, we die. I’m offering you a plan that works. All we need to do is work out the details.”

  Amanow’s jaw worked, contorting his expression as he ran options through his head. Griffith could guess what Amanow was thinking. Amanow considered him a dead man. It was only a question of whether to act before or after the mission.

  As he watched the captain cycle through his options, he realized the man was not such a bad strategist. He must have worked out something with the Protector ahead of their last call. The damned Central Asian faction was planning to fill all the posts with their kind. The Protector and Amanow were about to rid themselves of Griffith, the last of the true bluebloods. If that happened, the Board—made up of good clean British and American men—would be powerless. Amanow and his Turkmen would run a global cabal untethered to the true ideology.

  Only his meeting with Sabel had saved Griffith. The Protector changed their original plan and forced Amanow to get what he needed: Griffith to deliver the Stone. Then they would kill him.

  It was so diabolically treacherous he had to admire it.

  Nonetheless, it left him facing the most dangerous man he’d ever known. A cold-blooded killer. He knew only one way to stay alive with psychopaths. Sun Tzu said it best, Build your opponent a golden bridge to retreat across.

  “Before we go any further,” Griffith said, “I should apologize. I’ve treated you badly. I’ve been unkind. Your feat of strength in the jungle was unbelievable. I apologize for not recognizing it and showing my appreciation earlier. With so many things going on, it did not sink in until you reminded me of it. You really ran twenty-seven miles—and then ran back?”

  The Knight leaned into the camera. “Yours may indeed be a more elegant method. Perhaps. Tell me about it.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Pia sat in the G-wagon’s back seat watching the left side as they drove down the narrow street. Miguel sat in the passenger seat, watching the right. The driver, a Sabel Security employee from the Munich office, spouted tourist facts like a proud Bavarian. The cities of Garmisch and Partenkirchen had been combined for the 1936 Winter Olympics. Neuschwanstein Castle, only fifteen miles across the Alps as the crow flies but an hour’s drive, had inspired Sleeping Beauty’s Castle at Disneyland. Pia’s hotel, the Schloss-Emlau Resort, hosted the 2015 G7 Summit but the Schneefernerhaus environmental station high on Zugspitze, the highest peak in Germany, had been deemed more on-message and offered better photo-op views for the G20 meeting.

  Pia didn’t tell him to be quiet, which she thought demonstrated remarkable patience. For a moment she found herself distracted by the early-morning scenery. Massive peaks surrounded the alpine town in every direction. Unmistakable among them was the gray slab of rock that formed Zugspitze and its sister peak, Alpspitze. Snow covered the forests and slopes from the base halfway up. The rest alternated between ice, snow, and rock depending on how vertical the surface. A wisp of cloud streamed from the ridge in an otherwise bright and clear sky.

  “Why are we looking for the Chinese lady?” her driver asked. Except that the Ws sounded like Vs. “Vy are vee …”

  “I owe her an apology,” Pia said. She noticed him observing her in the mirror. “I was rude to her.”

  He returned his gaze to the road.

  Pia considered Peng’s masterful tactics. Pia had delayed her departure from the hotel specifically to sit with Peng on Sabel Two, departing Belize half an hour behind Sabel One. When Peng noticed Pia’s machinations, the old woman made sure to get on the first jet out of town. Why would she avoid Pia? Was she trying to build Pia’s guilt? Was she trying to get rid of Pia? Her comment about wealthy people looking out for each other’s interests was true for most ultra-rich, but not Pia. Or was it?

  Miguel tapped his window, pointing at two men walking down a pedestrian lane. “Is that Dhanpal?”

  “Definitely,” she said. “The man he’s with has one of those green tattoos. What is he doing?”

  “Not undercover work,” Miguel said. “He turned off his phone, we haven’t been able to track him.”

  Pia turned to the driver. “What’s down there?”

  “Einkaufszentrum, ehm, open mall?” He shrugged. “Cafés, shops, ski gear.”

  “Cherry said Rafael took her for coffee at Der Laden, right?” Pia thought out loud. “That should be several blocks up the road.”

  “Der Laden?” the driver asked. “They don’t open until nine. Two hours.”

  Miguel glanced back at Pia. They both sensed trouble.

  Pia said, “Could you drop us off?”

  In the heavy traffic of delivery vans, the driver took them around to the other end of the pedestrian mall and stopped. They hopped out and consulted a map for cafés.

  While huddled, they spotted two more men with the green tattoos on their wrists. They walked purposely in the direction of the first two they’d seen. Wordlessly, Miguel took the far side of the broad cobblestone lane while Pia followed directly behind the Knights.

  Miguel kept pace a few yards back, out of the Turkmen’s peripheral vision. Pia scanned the area ahead of them. She didn’t see Dhanpal and the other Knight coming toward them as she expected. Several courtyards and small alleys were set back from the central area. The men she followed angled toward an alley on the left. She caught Miguel’s eye and nodded for him to overshoot her turn, then come back.

  She followed the Knights into a short, bricked alley with an apothecary on the corner and a small café kiosk at the end. It was just opening for business. There were four customers: Peng, Rafael, Dhanpal, and the Knight she’d spotted earlier. Still twenty yards away and closing briskly, Pia couldn’t hear their words but could sense an unpleasant confrontation.

  Gu Peng raised her walking stick and shook it at Dhanpal’s companion, her long gray braid swinging behind her. The Knight smiled, his Stal
inesque walrus mustache spreading wide. Dhanpal flanked the old woman while the two Pia had followed picked up their pace. Pia sped up as well, catching up with them quickly.

  Her many years on the soccer field taught Pia moves that came in handy when up against four men. She hooked her left foot around the ankle of a man on her left, sending him sprawling to the ground before the man on her right realized they were under attack. Twisting her core back to the right, she slammed her forearm into his neck. While she’d aimed for his head, the neck-blow choked his air supply. Close enough. Combined with the shock, both men were out of commission for the five seconds it took Miguel to weigh in behind her.

  Pia used those seconds to slam the heel of her right hand into the lower jawbone of walrus-stache. He was already turning away from the expected punch, which sent her blow glancing off to the side, overextending her arm. She spun on her left heel hoping to use his avoidance maneuver to climb his back, but before she could complete the turn, Dhanpal clamped one of her biceps in his strong grip. An instant later, he had the other.

  All her hopes that Dhanpal had infiltrated the Knights on her behalf evaporated when she felt the strength of his grip.

  Behind them, what sounded like two coconut shells clapping together echoed in the narrow alley. Walrus-stache turned to see Miguel’s six-foot-five-inch frame, holding his two comrades by the neck. Miguel banged their heads together a second time for dramatic effect, then dropped their limp forms to the ground.

  Walrus-stache turned back to Pia, throwing a haymaker straight at her face. Held fast by Dhanpal, she pushed backward, forcing him to lean back. She pulled up her feet, planted both in the Knight’s belly, and kicked off. He fell back two steps as his punch touched the tip of her nose. Pia dropped her feet to the ground and bent at the waist. Dhanpal ended up on top of her back. She flipped him all the way over, slamming him on the pavement where Miguel stomped a foot in his abdomen with such force the air whooshed out of him.

  “Dhanpal!” Pia pulled his shirt.

  His mouth opened and closed to speak, but her former employee couldn’t talk after Miguel knocked the wind out of him. His eyes flamed with hate and anger.

  At the mouth of the alley, the two head-bangers dragged themselves to their feet and fled around the corner.

  Walrus-stache popped to his feet, a gleaming silver stiletto in his hand. He slashed at Miguel, holding the big guy at bay for the moment. He reached down, yanked Dhanpal by the collar, brought him to his feet, and the two sprinted for the exit.

  “Are you all right?” Pia asked Peng.

  “I very all right.” The old woman smiled and reached up to cup Pia’s cheek. “You act. First step, but good step.”

  Pia looked at Rafael. She thought he looked distraught. At first, she believed it was because professors rarely see such violence. Then she considered his time as a revolutionary. Perhaps the outburst had triggered long-buried memories. Under her observant eye, he gave her a nod devoid of any emotion.

  Pia asked, “Are you OK?”

  “Quite,” he said. His voice wavered ever so slightly, as if he were lying.

  Pia looked deep into his eyes. They were cold, emotionless. Most people’s eyes are dilated, the lids wide open for many minutes after a violent confrontation. The human body opens its senses to take in all signs of danger. Rafael showed no concern about the violence, yet some concern about Pia’s presence.

  “You know in heart what need doing.” Peng accepted a cup of tea from the kiosk’s serving window. “Brotherhood of Claritas need women like Pia Sabel. Claritas mean brightness of mind. Claritas mean clarity. Like sunny day.” She looked to the sky as Rafael took his coffee. “Clarity hard for some people. Sometime what need be done very hard to do. Claritas mean knowing like sunny day how and when to act.”

  Pia sensed someone’s presence nearby. At the end of the alley stood Cherry.

  CHAPTER 42

  What struck me was the scale of the place. The mountains were huge, angular blades of rock rising from the valley floor. Not soft and round like the Appalachians, not big distant blobs like Colorado, not dusty rock piles like Afghanistan. These were sharp, nasty, jagged peaks filed under “dangerous” in the dictionary. They looked like serrated knives thrust out of the underworld by Vulcan himself. I felt like I was falling to my death just looking at them.

  Mercury floated down onto my suite’s balcony. Quit being such a drama-queen, bro. My boy Julius took Octodurus from the Veragri to secure the Great Saint Bernard Pass not too far from here. You can do this.

  I said, Julius Caesar sent his soldiers home after the battle because it was too cold.

  Mercury said, Yeah, but he won. Don’t worry, if you win—and give thanks and praise to yours truly—I’ll see to it that Pia-Caesar-Sabel takes you back to that resort in Belize so you can get a hot stone massage. Did ya notice how everyone else got one? Now quit yer whining and make your battle plan. You gotta find Mr. Baldy.

  I said, I’m up against a well-trained, professional force and all I’ve got is Boy Wonder and the Misfits.

  Mercury said, It’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools, homie. Talk to the man. Have a meeting of the minds.

  I went back inside the suite where Danny, Fiona, Mark, and the guy whose name I still didn’t know pored over a giant map of the region with Jenny. Next to the map was a portable whiteboard, currently blank. The map showed ski slopes everywhere. There were plenty of seilbahns, cable cars with big gondolas. Not to mention a cogwheel train that ran through a tunnel carved into solid rock. One cable car came from the Austrian side and a bigger one came from the German side, meeting at Munich’s Haus, an observation deck, mountain lodge, and restaurant at the top. In the complex was a restaurant called Panorama 2962, the numbers referring to meters above sea level. Some of the G20 meetings would be held there. Across the ridge was the Schneefernerhaus Environmental Station where the presidents and prime ministers would meet. I looked up Schneefernerhaus on a translation site. It means, snow distant house.

  “What do you expect the Knights to do?” I asked Danny.

  His face twisted in thought. “They want to destroy democracy and return the world to despotism reminiscent of the Roman Empire. That means, they want the leaders of the remaining democracies to hold the Freedom Stone.”

  I looked at Jenny. She didn’t get it either. I asked him, “I was thinking more tactically, but as long as you’re at it, how does that work?”

  “The legend says the holder flips personality-polarity,” Danny said. “An autocrat becomes benevolent, as you saw with Carlotta. Conversely, an elected official becomes a despot.”

  “How do you know what happened to Carlotta?” I asked.

  “Someone told me.” Danny shrugged and pursed his lips. “Fiona, maybe?”

  That either of them would have detailed knowledge of a scene they didn’t witness struck me as odd, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  “There are eleven elected officials coming to the conference,” Jenny said. “They think they can get all of them to touch the Stone?”

  “Theirs is a long game,” he said. “They will infect as many as possible. One, two, maybe five? Whatever works. They have other methods as well. They’re the ones who create all the conspiracy theories that destabilize democracies. They’re behind the disinformation campaigns that—”

  “Those have been going on for years,” I said.

  “The Knights have been around for centuries. They persecuted people for witchcraft in Scotland in the fifteenth century. Among them, the Earl of Mar, brother of King James III, because he advocated for an end to feudalism and the introduction of a democratic system. They supported Franco and Mussolini. They support several well-known politicians today.”

  And I guessed they had supported Stilicho in his last-ditch attempt to stabilize the Roman Empire. I glanced at Mercury, who also referred to it as the Poison Stone. My lonely idol shrugged. He preferred plutocracies because it only takes one rich guy to believe in him
and a whole cult of millions will follow along—he hopes. Which made me wonder why he was helping me with the Free China group. He had to have an ulterior motive.

  Snap. I knew his motive. He wants me to be the rich guy who makes the Roman Pantheon popular. He smiled and touched his nose then pointed at me.

  Jenny and I took a minute to process Danny’s historical perspective. I’d always thought witch hunts were a handy way to steal money, land, and power from people you didn’t like.

  “OK,” I said. “We want to stop them from doing that. So where is Mr. Baldy? How would he stage this? Since the meeting place is on the tallest piece of limestone in Germany, how would he drag in a hundred-pound magic stone? He would have to bring it in ahead of time. Security would never let him carry it in.”

  “Why not?” Danny asked.

  “Anything that might be a bomb is assumed to be a bomb,” Jenny said.

  “Then he can’t hide it in Munich Haus or Schneefernerhaus,” Danny said, “because if security found it, they would cart it away.”

  “Geology display?” Fiona offered.

  “Air drop, by drone maybe?” Jenny said

  I wrote those down on the whiteboard and added, “Handoff.”

  Jenny said, “How would they hand it off? And to whom?”

  “A security guard. We have to assume they’ve infiltrated one or more security forces. A guard could hand it off to whoever will present it to a leader. Still, where is the guard going to get it? He won’t be allowed to bring it to work with him.”

  We stared at the map in silence, each of us visualizing the area, the approaches, and the buildings.

  Then Danny said something very smart, which surprised me. “The lifts open in an hour. Security sweeps will close everything later today. We have three hours to figure this out. Let’s scour the town first, then the facilities before they close at noon. I’ll get the Brothers on this.”

  Jenny patted his shoulder. “I have a good feeling about this. We can figure it out.”