Ghosts of the Past

by Mark H. Downer

  “Thanks again for letting me be a part of it. I know if you had your druthers, I wouldn’t be here today.”

  “Probably, but the way it’s worked out has been better than the alternative. I’ve enjoyed the company, and if we’re lucky it’ll be fun to share the experience, particularly with you.”

  “Thank you, my sentiments exactly.”

  Courtney emerged from the bathroom, refreshed from a short stint in the whirlpool again. The fire in the fireplace was struggling, but still emitted enough flame to produce dancing shadows in the darkened room. Ferguson was stretched out on the couch.

  She checked the lock on the door again and took a few steps into the living area, a large white bathrobe the only article of clothing covering her soft, warm body. The conjugal thoughts she had harbored in Lucerne had returned as she sat in the watery massage, and she felt the urge to test the sexual waters with the handsome young man in the next room.

  “Is there any room on that couch for me?” She asked softly.

  There was no response from Ferguson.

  She loosened the tie on the robe slightly, enough to expose a sufficient amount of cleavage. She shook her hair and ran her fingers through it as she approached the couch.

  “Have you got any room for me?”

  Ferguson didn’t move, and as she leaned over to his face she realized he was sound asleep.

  I’ll be damned.

  She debated waking him up, but realized his exhaustion. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, pulled a fleece throw from a wicker basket next to the couch and laid it gently over him as she retreated to the bedroom.

  Slipping a large Chicago Bulls T-shirt on, she was pulling back the covers to the bed when she heard the muted ring of her cell phone. Tracing the rings to her purse on the floor in the closet, she pulled out the phone and looked at the caller I.D… ’Dad-Work’.

  She decided this is one call she could answer. “Hi Daddy”.

  Chapter 17

  May 24, 2001. Chicago, Illinois.

  Miguel Enstrada had no difficulty tracking down Jason Allen. The phone call from his Uncle earlier that morning had interrupted what little sleep he had managed after an evening of carnal lust with Sabrina, and the excessive consumption of alcohol and a half a gram of nearly pure Bolivian powder.

  His head was a train wreck and he was in no mood for uncooperativeness. After Allen’s initial balk at his request to meet with Grayson Lewis that afternoon, Enstrada made very clear the consequences of not complying with his request. Not only would it be significantly distressing to Mr. Rocca, it conceivably could jeopardize Mr. Allen’s physical well being.

  The call back took less than twenty minutes, and Mr. Lewis had agreed to a thirty-minute block of time that afternoon. He was speaking at a fundraiser luncheon and was due back at the office at 2:00, and was scheduled to be at the mayor’s office at 3:00, so he would have to leave no later than 2:30.

  Enstrada assured Allen the half hour would be sufficient and he was emphatic that the meeting be private, between Lewis and himself. However, he wanted Allen to stick around until after they had discussed Mr. Rocca’s offer.

  In reality, the meeting only covered about fifteen minutes of Grayson Lewis’ busy day. He was ten minutes late returning from the speaking engagement, and the limo sent by the mayor arrived at 2:25. Nevertheless, Lewis was ecstatic at the proposal of a Rocca exhibit, but was expectedly skeptical as to why Chicago and why now? What was Rocca’s motivation for taking his collection public? Regardless, another meeting was scheduled for June 15, where he and Mr. Estrada could flesh out some details, and maybe uncover the true stimulus for such a proposition.

  Enstrada shook hands with Grayson Lewis as they exited his office and stood in the narrow hallway.

  “Thank you again for seeing me on such short notice Mr. Lewis. My schedule was so hectic I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get back to Chicago for several weeks.”

  “It was my pleasure Mr. Enstrada. Your Uncle’s collection, as I mentioned, is a source of much speculation and conjecture, and would generate an incredible amount of interest. As you well know, the secrecy surrounding it only fuels the buzz. The Institute would love to be a part of such an impressive exhibition. Thanks again for thinking of us! And please extend my thanks and appreciation to your Uncle!”

  Jason Allen walked down the hallway, having heard the conversation move out of the office.

  “Jason, can you please see to Mr. Enstrada. I’m afraid the mayor’s office has a car waiting for me downstairs and I need to be going.”

  “Certainly Grayson.”

  As Lewis turned and walked away, Enstrada interrupted. “Mr. Lewis, I need to make a private phone call, would you mind very much if I could use your office for a few minutes?”

  Lewis never stopped walking, but turned his head to face the two men in the hallway. “Absolutely. Jason, anything he needs, please feel free to help.”

  “Thank you again,” shouted Enstrada as Grayson Lewis disappeared from their sight.

  “Well, did you get what you so desperately needed?” Allen asked.

  “Yes, thank you for your help. Give me a few minutes on the phone and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Dial 9 to get an outside line. I’ll be out in the reception area. Take your time.”

  Enstrada entered Lewis’ office, closed the door and sat behind the large hand tooled leather and wood antique desk and picked up the phone. He removed his palm pilot from his sport coat pocket and punched up the number he had loaded in this morning. Courtney Lewis answered on the fifth ring.

  “Hi Daddy.”

  There was a slight pause. “No Miss Lewis, you can call me Michael. I’m sitting in your father’s office meeting with him on some rather delicate matters regarding art, which segues nicely into a similar predicament that involves you and your boyfriend.”

  Enstrada could sense the fragility of the connection. “Please don’t hang up on me Miss Lewis, or you risk putting your father’s life in jeopardy. Are you alone?”

  Courtney’s throat had grown incredibly dry, and she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to speak.

  “Miss Lewis are you still there? I’m not a very patient man.”

  “Yes, I’m here. And yes, I am alone. What do you want?”

  “I’m getting to that. You see, we have been following you. You and your companion are on the trail of a potentially incredible art discovery, one in which we have a great interest in, and you and Mr. Ferguson have been very uncooperative in allowing us to tag along.

  “In fact you have done a remarkable job of giving us the slip in Lucerne. My want… is to know where you are now, and if you fail to tell me, I will personally see that your father encounters an unexpected, but tragically fatal accident. Do you understand what I’m telling you Miss Lewis?”

  Courtney responded in a parched and nearly inaudible voice. “Yes, I understand.”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear your answer.”

  With more anger this time, she answered again. “I understand!” “Excellent.” There were several seconds of silence. “I’m waiting Miss Lewis. Where are you?”

  The few seconds had allowed her to gather her thoughts and she recovered quickly. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Matt’s the only one who knows where we’re going, and he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me. I was asleep in the car when you called. We’re parked in front of a small roadside restaurant. Matt went into to get some coffee and a bite to eat. I was tired so I stayed in the car to sleep.”

  “What is the name of the restaurant? What road are you on?”

  Courtney had the presence of mind to go way back in time. To a photo shoot she had done in St. Moritz almost a decade ago. There was an all night diner that had been around for years that the whole crew had frequented on more than one o
ccasion. She only hoped it was still standing and open. “The sign says the Olympischen Hutte. I don’t know what road we’ve been on, but I do know we’re somewhere near St. Moritz.”

  “I do hope you’re telling me the truth Courtney Lewis, for your father’s sake.”

  “I don’t have any reason to lie to you.” So why am I lying? What in the hell am I doing?

  “I’m going to call you back tomorrow. At exactly 6:00 pm your time. Be prepared Miss Lewis to answer the phone… alone. By that time, I fully expect you to have all the answers. Where you are going. Where you are staying. Where are you at that time. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Very! My father has no idea what’s going on here. Please, do not hurt him.”

  “Do as your told Miss Lewis and no one will get hurt. Your father is a very nice gentleman. I would regret anything happening to him. Six o’clock tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

  The line went dead and Courtney’s heart was about to bust out of her chest. She ran to the dresser and grabbed a water bottle from the welcome basket. She fell back on to the bed in a state of shock. She had to think… clearly, if it was at all possible.

  After several minutes of agonizing over the phone call, she turned her attention to analyzing the situation, and what she had just done. She could not believe she had just put her father’s life in danger over somebody else’s problem, a problem that she didn’t have enough sense to walk away from the outset.

  Matt was right from the very beginning. I should have never gotten involved. God bless him, he tried to tell me stay out of it. This whole affair was turning back into the nightmare it had been at home.

  It should have never gotten this far. We should have gone to the police. For what selfish reasons do I not tell, whoever it is that just called, the truth, and then get the hell away from this mess? What is it about a discovery of this magnitude that is worth risking anybody’s life? What about Matt? What if I get out now, what about him?

  Courtney’s head swirled with a multitude of questions and what if’s. She lay still and concentrated on nothing. She successfully blocked out everything in her mind for a few valuable seconds. Slowly she began to calculate a solution. She thought about Matt, and his comment at the Palace hotel. ‘You’re not going to like me very much’. That would have to be her answer to Matt when everything was said and done. For everyone concerned, this would resolve it once and for all. She reached again into her purse and retrieved her wallet. Inside one of the pockets, she pulled out a thin stack of papers and cards, and leafing through them, found the business card of Detective Toby Shutt. She dialed the number on the card into her cell phone and waited patiently as the plan formulating in her mind began to make perfect sense.

  The T-Mobile cell phone simultaneously rang and vibrated in the breast pocket of Toby Shutt’s tweed blazer, as it lay draped over the stool in the Kaufleuten bar. One of Zurich’s more popular and trendy nightspots, Jean-Luc Daniel had decided they both could use a nice meal and couple of cold drinks to wash away the complete disaster the day had brought.

  After their failure at the Palace hotel, and subsequent interviews with the staff, they decided to return to Zurich and try to manage the investigation and search for the new rental car from there. Alerts had been issued to the other cantons for the make, model and number of the Volkswagen, and photographs and descriptions of Matt Ferguson and Courtney Lewis. Explicit instructions were given not to apprehend if sighted, but to contact the Federal Police, specifically Daniel, and keep the two Americans under surveillance until further notice. Shutt had been overly impressed with the assistance Daniel and his office was providing, and the resources they were making available.

  Shutt was fortunate to have his rib cage leaning against the jacket, where the vibration caught his attention, because the noise of the crowded bar drowned out the muffled ring.

  He looked at the number of the incoming call and frowned as he failed to recognize the number or the caller. He thought about not answering it, but he was cognizant that there were a number of people involved in the search for Ferguson and Lewis, and it could be anyone of them trying to reach him.

  He punched the send button as he covered the opposite ear with his free hand to block out the racket of conversation and music. “Hello, Detective Shutt.”

  “Detective Shutt, it’s Courtney Lewis. You’re a hard man to get a hold of, but I managed to convince your office to give this number.”

  Shutt looked up wide-eyed at Daniel and didn’t say a word.

  “Please try to hear me out before you interrupt me or attempt to rip me a new one.” She paused to see if he would go ahead anyway, but the other end the line remained silent. It actually gave Shutt time to run from the bar to the quiet of the evening sidewalk on Pelikanstrasse.

  “I’m ready to tell you everything that is going on, and I’m ready to tell you where we are and why we’re here. But you have to promise that you will give me something in return.”

  Shutt pushed his way out through the crowd at the front door, hesitating until he knew she was waiting for a reply. “Do I have a choice? What do you want?”

  “I need your assistance in protecting my father, and your word that you’ll not interfere with what we’re doing until I give you the okay. It’s important that we complete what we came here to do, and in the process I think we’ll uncover your murderer, or at the very least, the people associated with him. Can you agree to that?”

  “I can probably live with that.”

  “No probably’s, I need a firm yes!”

  “Yes, damnit!”

  “Good. Here’s the deal.” Courtney took a deep breath knowing full well she was about to compromise Matt and his whole endeavor, but she had worked it out several times in her mind, and she was convinced that it would work out for him in the long run. Most importantly, it would keep her father safe, and bring this whole quagmire to an end.

  “We’re both in Switzerland. We’ve been here for a couple of days. We’re in a small town called Wildhaus, in the eastern part of the country. We’re here because Matt has information that was passed on to him from a recently deceased Uncle who was a German aviator in World War II.

  His Uncle was responsible for transporting looted artwork out of the country at the end of the war and crashed into the mountains in this area. He survived the crash, and always maintained that the plane and the artwork survived as well. Whether it has survived almost sixty years in conditions where it crashed is another matter. We do know that the plane crashed into a cave at the time, and we’re hoping that it remained in the cave and entombed itself. If the artwork was crated or had some sort of shipping over wrap of any kind, and the environmental conditions of the cave were reasonable and maintained over the years, it’s entirely possible the pieces are still in repairable condition.

  “If that’s the case, the works that we have since discovered were on that plane, are worth millions. Major millions!”

  “You’re serious,” queried Shutt.

  “Very, and apparently there is somebody, or what we believe are somebodies, that have found out about our little lost treasure and are adamant about making sure they get their hands on it first. Which leads me to my father. I received a phone call from some lowlife about a half hour ago; threatening to make sure my father meets an untimely death unless I tell him where we are. You see, Matt had a feeling that we would be followed and he arranged for us to disappear yesterday after leaving enough of a trail to another city here in Switzerland. Obviously, it worked, and it pissed them off, whoever they are.

  “Regardless, I need you to arrange for my father’s protection in Chicago. I can tell you how to reach him, but whatever you do, it cannot be obvious. We need to maintain the illusion that everything is going along fine and the police are not involved. I’m stalling the shithead that called, but I am going to have to tell him where we are wit
hin the next 24 hours.

  Once I do, I’m going to bargain with him to let us finish the discovery… good or bad. I think he will be agreeable to that, since they still have no idea where the plane is. We do all the work, and then he can come in and take it from us… the artwork for my father. He should be agreeable to that. If you can get over here and get the local authorities involved, you can keep an eye on us from a distance, and pick up the bad guys when they decide to take what we find.”

  Shutt was chuckling to himself on the other end, but was having a hard time disputing the logic of her plan. “You know they’re likely to kill you when they take the art.”

  “I figured that, but I was counting on you being close enough to keep that from even being a remote possibility.”

  Daniel had found Shutt outside pacing back and forth with the phone still ensconced to his ear. He remained quiet while Shutt continued his conversation, managing to mouth the words ‘Courtney Lewis’ as he pointed to the phone.

  “I’m still not real comfortable with you playing amateur undercover detective. There has to be another way we can approach this without putting you and Ferguson in danger.”

  “You gave me your word detective. I expect you to honor it!”

  “Yes, I did. So are you planning to call me back?”

  “You call me when you get to Switzerland. You have my number now.”

  “Courtney, I’m in Switzerland. The curveball you threw the bad guys in Lucerne at the Palace, struck us out too. We just missed you.”

  Courtney laughed. “Matt had pretty good instincts. Where are you now?”

  “Zurich, and I have the Federal and local police involved. I’ll take care of your father immediately, but I’ll need that information on how to reach him before you hang up. I want you to call me tomorrow… twice. At noon and six o’clock. Keep me updated. Where are you staying in Wildhaus?” He emphasized the city as he looked at Daniel, who acknowledged his familiarity with a nod.