Hancock Drive, Weston, MA
The ornate wrought iron gates of the address on Hancock Drive revealed little but a rolling hill and a winding driveway from the road. The 72 acre compound was the largest private residence in the small, upscale town of Weston, Massachusetts.
Long desired for its proximity to Route 128 and the Massachusetts Turnpike, Weston served as the home of many corporate executives in the fields of high technology and biotechnology.
The home on Hancock Drive was one of the many residences of Dr. Alfred Scheiter, the single largest stockholder and Chairman of the Board of A. G. Bhermann.
From the road, it looked like many of the other Weston residences with its electronically controlled wrought iron gates and winding driveway, but from the air, it looked very different indeed.
First of all, the sheer size of the property dwarfed every other home in Weston. Weston had a minimum 1 acre building lot requirement, but most homes were in the 1 to 5 acre range. Scheiter’s acreage was larger than the next seven largest homes combined.
It had the air of an old English country estate with a few key differences. The security of the estate was entrusted to Karl Heinz Stockmann, Scheiter’s head of security at RS1.
From the road, the winding driveway rose to the top of a small hill and then vanished behind it. From that point to the main house remained three-quarters of a mile of winding driveway.
Initially, one would pass through an outer fence and guard house which completely surrounded the property though not visible to any of the neighbors. Within that outer ring was another electrified ring of fence about 500 yards away with visibly armed guards and patrol dogs and another security checkpoint.
Between the two rings of fences was an array of motion detection devices installed by the security firm that installed them at the White House and at RS1.
Moving through the electrified fence one came upon a few maintenance buildings and security residences. Much further down the road was a large grove of trees containing the main residence, staff house, guest house and a helicopter pad.
The trees which surrounded the main residence provided perfect cover for the vast array of cameras capable of day and night monitoring as well as heat and sound detection. To say that Dr. Albert Scheiter was well protected was an understatement.
Lying beneath the compound was a series of tunnels accessible from several locations in the main residence as well as several locations on the grounds. The tunnels led to a central hub and the hub led out to several exits at various points on the property. There was always an array of armored vehicles ready and available in the hub. Two of the tunnels also led to exits on vacant properties owned by Scheiter over half a mile away. These had been constructed by tunneling beneath his neighbor’s properties.
His home was a fortress, completely impenetrable. Scheiter hosted many foreign dignitaries at his home and had several fundraisers for Presidential and Congressional candidates. The property was unique and secure, but it was not unique for Scheiter.
Each of the eight homes that he owned was constructed in a similar manner, and while exact addresses were kept secret, he is known to have homes in California, Switzerland, France, Germany, Australia, New Zealand and Hong Kong. Each location was chosen for its proximity to a Bhermann research facility.
The main residence contained 11 bedrooms, 14 bathrooms, a dining hall and kitchen facility to accommodate 75 guests, several offices, a theater room, a library, a music room, and indoor Olympic size swimming pool. It contained over 45,000 square feet of living space.
The most distinguishing characteristic of the home was the inclusion of a Class 1 hospital wing with diagnostic, intensive care, and operating rooms along with a staff of 3 full time doctors and 6 round the clock nurses. While small and private, the hospital wing was one the best medical facilities in the world.
Dr. Alfred Scheiter founded A.G. Bhermann in Geneva, Switzerland in 1944 during the last days of World War II. Many thought that Scheiter had used his family’s wealth and influence to recruit the best of the Nazi scientists and technicians before the fall of Berlin. The company grew from modest means to become one of the largest publically traded conglomerates in the world.
A.G. Bhermann has multi-billion dollar divisions in pharmaceuticals, chemicals, automotive, agribusiness, materials, and electronics. It’s said that every person on the planet uses or consumes a Bhermann product at least once a day.
As the largest shareholder of A.G. Bhermann, Dr. Albert Scheiter’s public net worth is estimated to be greater than 70 billion dollars. However, Scheiter’s total net worth, including the private wealth he has invested and accumulated over a lifetime, is well over 100 billion dollars, making him the richest man in the world.
Chapter 7
Public Library, Boston, MA
The Bates Gallery is the largest room in the Boston Public Library and occupies the whole front of the building on the second floor level along the Copley Square facade.
It is well lit by the 15 high arched and grilled windows extending along its 218 foot length. At 42 feet wide and 50 feet high to the crown of its barrel vaulted ceiling, it is an imposing space, very reminiscent of an ancient Roman hall.
The sandstone walls rise from a terrazzo floor offset only by the border of yellow Verona marble and the rows of old oak tables and chairs.
The gallery is usually bustling with visitors and readers but this activity slows to a crawl as it approaches closing time. Those still remaining at the end of the day tend to be transients trying to stay as long as possible before venturing out into the dark September nights.
This night, there were only a few readers in the great hall. At the end of the hall, behind the catalog cases and periodical stands, was a large oak screen with a table and six chairs behind it. Seated alone at the table was the disgraced vascular surgeon, Dr. Irwin Chandler of Charlestown, MA.
Chandler had arrived around 8 p.m. and had selected today’s Boston Globe as his reading material. Dressed inconspicuously in an old, dark grey coat and black slacks, no one would question why a vascular surgeon from Charlestown would come to the Boston library in the evening to read a newspaper readily available at many locations in his home town.
To those who might have shown an interest, Chandler looked much like any other Boston vagrant trying to kill an hour or two before heading out into the streets. The only telltale sign of prosperity was the small leather bag that rested on the table before him.
Chandler enjoyed reading about the “Subway Slasher” and was particularly enthralled when the media mentioned any of “artifacts” he left in the bodies. While the police had been very tight lipped about the statue and the pyramid, word about them had inevitably leaked out through the exchange of money for information and had fueled the mania once again.
Newspaper headlines related stories about everything from marauding aliens to the revenge of the mummy’s curse. These were exactly the type of headlines that he had been hoping for. Meaningless associations and dead ends with no merit at all.
Chandler was so enthralled with the newspaper story that he almost didn’t notice the man that came into his section and sat at the opposite corner of the table from him.
Juergen Elsinger didn’t like this assignment. More importantly, he didn’t like the man seated to his left and referred to as “Chandler.” While Juergen was a trusted professional and long time employee of Dr. Scheiter, he had no idea why he was in the Boston Public Library and meeting with this Chandler under these circumstances and at this late hour.
His instructions were simply to meet with Chandler, like he has many times before, and exchange black bags with him. Juergen was always given a bag before he left for the meetings at the library. He knew that his work was vitally important to Dr. Scheiter and that made him feel both proud and important.
He was told to travel directly and swiftly to the RS1 facility in Connecticut after making the bag exchange without opening or looking at the contents of th
e bag. Juergen often felt he was chosen for this assignment because of his Swiss heritage and flawless punctuality. It was often said you could set your clock by Juergen’s precise schedule.
As he glanced over at Chandler and their eyes met, Elsinger’s blood ran cold. He really didn’t like this man. He pushed his bag across the table and Chandler smirked at him as he slid his black bag toward Elsinger.
Chandler considered Juergen an overpaid European errand boy and often wondered if he was a homosexual. Chandler quickly opened his bag, stared at the contents for just long enough to make sure that Juergen noticed, then rose and left the hall without saying a word.
Juergen remained seated for a moment. He wondered about Chandler and all this “secretive” business. He thought it must be a money exchange or drug exchange or both.
Initially, he thought it might have to do with some type of industrial espionage but that vanished quickly after he had met with Chandler a few times. There was no way that Dr. Scheiter would entrust his company’s future to a man like Chandler. This had to be personal; drugs or pornography or something much more mundane.
As he walked out of the library and made his way outside through the cold and dark parking lot, Elsinger’s curiosity began to get the better of him.
“Why is a man like Chandler entrusted with these secrets?” he thought to himself. It was not the first time.
“Surely, I am more highly regarded by Dr. Scheiter than Chandler? I’ve worked for the man for 17 years. He knows that he can trust me. He could trust me with anything.”
As he walked in the direction of his car, Juergen could not stop thinking about the bag. He clutched it tightly in his hands and stroked it as he strode across the parking lot. He stared at the bag, looked completely around the parking lot, and then back at the bag again. He had always prided himself on having the discipline to resist the temptation to look inside. It was his part of his Swiss pride.
Tonight was different, tonight was driven by the darker side of his Swiss pride. The way Chandler had stared and smirked at him was truly offensive. That lump of human garbage had looked at him like he was nothing; a clerk, an errand boy, a lackey. Chandler made sure that Juergen saw that he had the authority to look in the bag while Juergen did not.
Juergen had received his MBA from the Frankfurt School of Finance & Management and had been recruited by A.G. Bhermann. He was a VP of Strategic Resources and earned more than a quarter of a million dollars each year. He was better than Chandler and Chandler should know that.
He had often toyed with the idea of looking inside the bag. After all, it wasn’t locked or sealed in any way. He had always been able to resist the urge each time by telling himself that he was Swiss and being Swiss meant that he had an honor to uphold.
He had always been able to resist until tonight. Until Chandler had belittled him with that smirk and leered at him like he knew that he was gay. Chandler was dirt, Chandler was human garbage and he had no right to know something this important to Dr. Scheiter while Juergen was kept in the dark.
He stopped at his car door and carefully looked about the parking lot. It was okay for him to look, he had convinced himself of that, but he must make sure there were no bystanders around who could get a peek. If it was money, porn, or drugs, he wouldn’t want anyone else to see. He wouldn’t let any of them see it.
Slowly, he looked down and stared at the black bag in his hands. It wasn’t that heavy so it could have diamonds, but probably not gold, silver or platinum.
Dr. Scheiter would never know that he peeked inside. Elsinger was treated beyond reproach and everyone knew that he would never steal from his employer. It could be a billion dollars in raw diamonds, but each and every one would be safe traveling with Juergen Elsinger.
His hands began to shake as he turned the latch and unlocked the bag. Now, he was going to know; now he would be able to smirk back at Irwin Chandler.
He opened the bag slowly and peered inside only to stare blankly at a small, stainless steel Thermos bottle resting inside. No money, no porn, no diamonds – just a small non-descript Thermos bottle and nothing more.
“What a waste of time!” thought Juergen, his curiosity still aroused.
He couldn’t believe it. He had made all of those trips and driven all of those miles just to deliver a bag and a Thermos? He knew there had to be more. He had to open the Thermos. He had to know what was inside.
His hands trembled as he picked up the Thermos bottle and unscrewed the cover. Peering inside, it was hard for him to make out the contents with the poor lighting, but the smell was strong enough to identify what it was and he began to gag.
“Why would he send me to pick this up?” he thought to himself.
It was a question that would remain unanswered as Juergen barely saw the flash of steel shoot between his ribs. He was unable to cry out as pain spread out across his chest so quickly and intensely that he lost his breath. He looked up as the blood filled his throat and stared straight into the smiling face of Dr. Irwin Chandler.
“Hello Juergen.” were the last words he ever heard.
What Elsinger didn’t know is that he was actually the fourth “errand boy” to interface with Dr. Chandler. Each time a trusted employee had eventually let their curiosity win, they had been replaced, that is, permanently replaced. It was a breech of confidentiality that was neither allowed nor tolerated.
Chandler took the Thermos bottle from the lifeless hand of Juergen Elsinger. Placing it back in the bag, he kicked and pushed Juergen’s body beneath the car, cursing softly as he prepared for another long late night drive to Connecticut.
Hancock Drive, Weston, MA
Sitting in a wheelchair in his study, the 91 year old Albert Scheiter looked frail and weak. An oxygen mask covered his mouth as his cold blue eyes peered out from their recessed sockets.
Scheiter was a handsome man, tall and lean, standing 6 feet 4 inches tall, but these days he was nothing more than a crumpled mass of bones which traveled via an electric wheelchair. His breathing was distressed and his heartbeat erratic.
Advanced age and autoimmune disease had ravaged his body while unkindly sparing his mind. He looked and felt every bit of his 91 years. No one outside of his closest confidents had ever been allowed to see Scheiter in this condition and no one ever would.
Media outlets just considered him a recluse and he, and his staff, worked hard to maintain that image. No one had seen him this way except for his medical staff and a few chosen associates.
“Is it here yet?” wheezed Scheiter through his mask.
“Yes Doctor, they’re just bringing it up now.” replied the nurse.
“Tell them to hurry,” he said, obviously annoyed and distressed. “I have several events tomorrow and I need to be ready.”
“They are preparing it now Doctor,” she said looking toward the door.
Scheiter scowled and waited for the delivery. It was his number one priority. Nothing else mattered now.
Within minutes, the doors of the study opened and a doctor and another nurse rushed in. The doctor was holding a syringe and the nurse held an IV bag for infusion of the liquid substance directly into his veins.
“Hurry it up, I’ve only got 16 hours!” said Scheiter to the doctor with the needle in hand.
The doctor immediately injected Dr. Scheiter in one arm while the nurse hooked the IV bag to the stand on his wheelchair and inserted its needle into his other arm. Scheiter said nothing as the injection’s warm and soothing sensation began to spread over his body. He was now quite familiar with the procedure.
“We’ll be taking you to bed now Doctor,” said the first nurse and she began to wheel him from the study.
Scheiter nodded dreamily and tried to capture the moment. He thought of his childhood in Austria and the lazy days of running through the fields and playing along the banks of the river Kamp.
He remembered his mother, her beautiful smile and her wonderful Salzburger schnitzel stuffed with mushrooms,
bacon, onions, and local herbs.
He always used this time to drift back to his childhood, to see his family and visit with old friends. He used these fond memories to gather strength, focus his mind, and transport himself to another place, a quiet and safe place, and a place full of memories, full of friends. Any place but this place.
As he was rolled down the corridor toward the master bedroom, he focused on these memories and his eyes began to roll back in his head. He heard his mother calling him in for lunch and he ran to see what she had baked that day. He ran further and further through the fields of his mind and prepared himself for another night of living hell.
Hemlock Reservoir, Easton, CT
Karl Heinz Stockmann left the Bhermann property and drove through the darkened streets of Easton to a prearranged turnout near the Hemlock reservoir. It was a secluded meeting spot tucked behind several large bushes. It was a location guaranteed to garner privacy at this hour of the morning.
The Instrumental Rabbi (A Professor McCauley Mystery) Page 6
