I will deal with you upon my return home. Kirit will confine you to your quarters until I return. Should any harm come to robert elliott, Kirit has been instructed to execute you upon hearing such news. You are to remove your butchers, Singh and Habib, from the United States at once. I had expected more from you, my cousin. Ahmad
As Jim Howard was about to leave Medway and head back to Providence late that afternoon, Harry arranged for one of the local police cruisers to give Jim a ride back as Harry’s job was clearly not over, not by a long shot. Both of them were outside the front of the Elliott residence when a car slowly approached the property, its headlights glaring in the distance, alerting several policemen to draw their weapons as they crouched behind two cruisers in front of the house. The car slowed down quickly until it came to a complete stop several hundred feet from the Elliott driveway.
“Place your hands where we can see them and get out of the car slowly,” blasted the police speaker.
The figure complied with the request and there in the darkness stood Father Dick, in his black suit with Roman collar, hands raised.
Jim yelled to the police, “Don’t fire, I know this man, he is not a threat.”
“Mr. Howard, I’m sorry to alarm anyone. I was on my way back to the Westin and somehow could not help but see if I could meet Bob Elliott. I am worried for his safety, and I feel responsible for all of this and, well, he is my son.”
“You really should have called me, Father, I’m not sure that this is the right time for this,” Jim replied. “You could have gotten killed here; no one else even knows what you look like but me.”
“You’re right, of course, I didn’t think of that. I just had to do this, Mr. Howard. Do you think Bob Elliott would meet with me, even for just a few minutes, please?”
The look of anguish on Father Dick’s face was more than Jim could bear. Here was a man whose secure life, as it had been, was now completely turned upside down. His years of devotion to the church had suddenly been overshadowed by an innocent youthful tryst so long ago that he barely remembered it happening. His one and only sexual encounter amid a celibate life since then had resulted in two sons, one murdered and the other under threat of a similar fate. How could he know how to handle this situation, how does one confront a thirty-five year old son he has never seen nor even known about?
Jim rang the doorbell and Julie answered. The Elliotts had eaten their customary 4:00 p.m. Thanksgiving dinner and were quietly sipping coffee and after-dinner drinks as they sat in the living room.
“Mr. Howard, you have more news, have they caught those men?” Julie asked eagerly.
“No, ma’am, not yet. I am here because of an unusual request. Do you recall that I told you that Bob’s real father was a young priest at the time he had the affair in Paris?” Jim continued. “Well, he is here, right outside, and wants to meet Bob if he can, even if only for a minute.”
“I can’t speak for my husband, Mr. Howard, but I will pass this along to him and let him decide if he wants to do this right now or not. You really know how to foul up our lives, don’t you? No, no, I’m sorry, Mr. Howard, this is not your fault, it’s only that this is amazing news and quite bizarre, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am, it’s very bizarre indeed. I’ll just wait outside while you talk this over with Bob.” He headed down the front walk toward the cruisers and Father Dick standing there with Harry.
Ten minutes later, the front door opened and Julie motioned to Jim to come up. Bob had agreed to meet Father Dick if only to see his face, but the meeting would be held with all family members, not just Bob. Bob had nothing to hide and everyone in the family had a right to know the face behind the story.
As Father Dick entered the front hallway, he introduced himself to Julie and thanked her for the opportunity to meet Bob.
Julie escorted him into the living room and announced, “Everyone, this is Father Richard Merrill, Bob’s birth father.” The silence was deafening.
“Hello, Father Merrill. I’m Bob Elliott and this is my family,” chimed in Bob as he made the rounds introducing the other family members. Carl was not pleased at meeting Father Dick and Bob’s mother, Judy, would not even look his way. Ben thought this was cool, adding excitement to a normally quiet weekend in Massachusetts.
“Please be seated, Father. Can I get you something to drink?” motioned Julie.
“No, I’m fine thank you. I’m very sorry for interrupting your holiday and for disrupting your lives. I wish none of this ever happened, but it did. Years ago, I made a foolish decision as a young priest on holiday in a foreign country. I never realized that any of this would be happening and that evil people would seek harm to either of the two boys. Obviously, with one of them already dead, God rest his soul, I am now paying the price for that decision. Bob, I am your natural father but there is no way that I could replace the love and sacrifice that your parents have made over the years in raising you. But I thought you should know at least who I am, that’s all. Your birth mother’s name was Françoise Dupont and, long after she gave you and your brother up for adoption, she married Prince Ahmad Maurier of Khatamori, a small but very rich Middle Eastern oil country. Apparently, the birth of twins early on had prevented Françoise from having more children later on. As you can well imagine, a kingdom needs heirs and the Mauriers had no children of their own. But Françoise, who is now Queen Farah, had two boys and, according to the custom in Khatamori, they are eligible to succeed the throne now held by Ahmad. You may have read recently that he is in Boston for a kidney transplant tomorrow morning. If he does not recover, the country has a succession problem with Françoise the only remaining living Maurier, except for the king’s cousin who appears to be behind all of this in an effort to secure the crown for himself. He is thought to be responsible for the death of your natural brother, Charles Larouche, in Dijon last week.”
Father Dick continued, “Françoise is a good queen from what I’m told and extremely loyal to her husband. For years, she sent money to your parents through the orphanage so that you would never be wanting. Even if and when they catch these criminals, I don’t know how this will get settled.”
“Father, as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to settle,” Bob interrupted, “I just want my life to go on normally and raise my own family while we have the chance to. I don’t care about Katamanga, or whatever this place is called, and I particularly don’t care about you or the queen one way or the other. I don’t want to be the heir of a throne, so if something happens to the king, that’s not my problem. I just don’t like the idea of somebody shooting at me, would you?” Bob was bitter at the situation his family had been put in and abruptly rose to his feet and faced Father Dick.
“Thank you for coming, Father, but I don’t believe we have anything further to say to each other.”
The trip back to the Westin would wear heavily on Father Dick as he left the Elliotts and drove his car back onto Route 95 to Boston.
“I’m sorry for the outburst,” Bob began in front of his family, “but, even though I knew about being adopted in France from unknown parents, I guess I just wasn’t ready or expected to hear about my birth parents in this way.”
He hugged his parents and broke down in tears.
CHAPTER 20
Answa’s quarters on the outskirts of Banra were quite an elaborate mini-palace of its own. As a prominent dignitary in Khatamori, and the only cousin to King Ahmad, he was wealthy in his own right, sharing part of the oil fortune in the Maurier family. Wealth, in this case, did not mean power, at least not the kind of power that comes with ruling a country.
Answa had asked Kirit to be confined in his library and Kirit saw no reason to deny him that request. Guards would be placed outside the library entrance and on the grounds over Answa’s entire property. As Kirit was about to leave Answa in his library, Answa poured himself a tall brandy and asked Kirit if he would join him. The sneer on his face angered Kirit, speeding his exit from the room as h
e slammed the door as he left. Answa could hear noise at the door, realizing full well that the guards were barricading him inside.
At almost the same time, Answa quickly drew the curtains on his windows, isolating himself from any view outside. He walked to a bookcase and grabbed the wall lamp adjacent to it and twisted it sideways and back. Immediately, one section of the bookcase popped open revealing a passageway behind the wall. Answa entered the passageway and turned on a light switch as he shut the bookcase behind him. In the passageway, a safe contained a vast amount of American dollars, a pistol, a passport and other papers he would need. He had prepared himself for such an event. A good security officer always prepares himself for his own security, he thought. The passageway led to an underground tunnel that went completely outside his palace grounds where a loyal servant laid waiting in an old automobile, one that would not attract attention as it made its way toward a private airstrip at the farther side of Banra. Answa had access to the royal family’s Falcon jet and boarded virtually unnoticed. It would be hours before anyone realized that he was gone from his confinement. Once Kirit realized that the Falcon jet was gone, there would be no way to trace his whereabouts. He would be on his way to the United States. Captain Ed Kocon, the king’s personal pilot, had earlier been taken at gunpoint to the airstrip from his quarters a few miles away.
Security outside the royal suite at the Westin had again been increased following the receipt of the telegram from Kirit.
Answa has escaped using secret tunnel in his quarters/Stop/Falcon jet also missing/Stop/Beware as I fear he is heading for the US/Stop/Kirit.
The FBI had been notified and immediately took action. All air traffic control towers were alerted to notify the FBI of any incoming flights from foreign soil attempting to land at their airport. Additional agents were assigned at the Elliott home in Medway and the Maurier suite in Boston. Harry had a suspicion that the king was going to be more vulnerable to intruders in a place like Mass. General following his planned surgery on Friday. Since there were adequate security officers guarding the Elliotts, he decided to head for Boston to help in the protection of the king and queen.
Traffic to Boston late in the day on the holiday was light as most people also had Friday off from work and there were no major activities going on in Boston on Thanksgiving night.
The Bureau had taken space on both the twenty-ninth and thirtieth floors of the Westin and had positioned agents at all staircases on each floor, including the thirty-fifth. Harry knocked on the door of the royal suite and was greeted by a fellow agent. Once inside, he asked to speak to Ahmad and Françoise. After introducing himself to them, he updated them on the status of the two assassins and about the brief meeting that Father Merrill had with the Elliotts earlier that evening. Harry believed that Father Merrill was back in his room at the Westin and would likely call to inform them of what had transpired in Medway. He informed the royal family of the security net that had been put in place to prevent Answa from penetrating the area, should he make such an attempt. Ahmad chuckled at this news and alerted Harry at how clever and resourceful Answa was in eluding people when he had to.
“You cannot capture what you cannot find,” continued Ahmad, “and Answa will not allow himself to be captured unless he chooses to be captured. He would die first, that is the type of man you are dealing with. He will change how he looks, how he walks and speaks, and how he dresses to elude authorities. What I do not know is how many people he will have with him.”
“I understand, Your Highness, and,” Harry continued, “we will do everything in our power to see to it that you and the queen are not in any danger.”
Harry bid the two good night and wished the king success in his operation the next morning. Harry would be stationed in a room on the thirty-fourth floor, directly below the king’s suite.
The phone rang again in the royal suite and Father Dick asked to speak to Françoise. He told her of his meeting with Bob Elliott and the bitterness that Bob held toward him and Françoise for disrupting his life and placing his family in danger. Françoise took the news very badly and nearly broke down on the telephone conversation. She hoped that there would be an opportunity to calm this animosity in Bob when the whole affair was over. She too realized how her actions years before now came back to torment her. What could possibly make this right, she wondered.
Realizing that the following morning would be nerve-wracking enough for Françoise, Father Dick inquired if it would be all right to sit with her in the waiting room during the operation on Friday. Françoise, who had been a devout Catholic in her younger days, agreed to this and would inform the authorities at the hospital to allow him into the private waiting area that was near the recovery room at the hospital. Friday would be a very long day as the transplant surgery was expected to take at least five hours.
Ahmad called Françoise by his bedside and began to speak in a very soft voice. “If tomorrow does not go well, I will be with my father and you will be the one who must keep the peace in Khatamori and care for our people. If Robert Elliott wants no part of us, then his name must never be revealed after Answa is dealt with. You cannot allow these people to fear living in the face of threats on their lives. Whether I live or die, you must meet this child of yours and make peace with having abandoned him so many years ago. I do not want you to forget your child, but there are so many other children that you can help now, perhaps they all can be the children we never had. I hope to be with you again, Françoise, if not tomorrow, then in the next kingdom where my father dwells. And now, I must sleep, my beloved queen. May Allah guide you on your journey as I pray he will on mine.”
At 9:00 p.m., the nurse entered Ahmad’s bedroom to administer a sleeping aid to him. At 5:00 a.m. the next day, Ahmad would be transported by ambulance to Mass. General for prepping work prior to the scheduled 8:00 a.m. operation. Ahmad, almost instantly, fell into a deep sleep.
Five a.m. came quickly and, as the ambulance technicians arrived at the hotel, the FBI agents searched them thoroughly as well as the ambulance itself. Agents had been assigned in three separate cars to escort the ambulance to Mass. General. Harry would be in the third car, behind the ambulance, while the other two vehicles would be in front of the ambulance. At the hospital, an equal number of Boston policemen were stationed at the emergency entrance while several other police officers were scattered at different stairwells throughout the hospital.
Ahmad arrived at the hospital at 5:15 a.m. and was led to the operating room prepping area. The hospital staff on duty was uneasy at all the security in and around the area but went about their business as best they could. Ahmad was lightly sedated but constantly held Françoise’s hand in the prep room. At 7:30 a.m., a team of doctors, dressed in full operating room gowns and masks, entered the room for a final check on all of Ahmad’s vital signs. The next time Ahmad would see them again, God-willing, would be in the recovery room several hours after the surgery.
Françoise was led into the private waiting area where Father Dick had already arrived. She greeted him with a faint smile, one of concern written all over it. He had a prayer book in his left hand as he clasped Françoise’s two hands into his. Both sat quietly in the room for several minutes before Françoise spoke first.
“I was young, Richard, even younger than you that year in Paris. If I had never had your children, I probably would never have had the chance to work at the Louvre and meet Ahmad. He is my life, Richard, and I ask you to pray with me today as I have not prayed in a long time for his life.”
“All of this is my fault, Françoise, not yours. You had no way of knowing that I was a priest and I had no right to deceive you. I have asked for God’s forgiveness so many times over the years, but never more than now when I realize what I have done to two innocent lives, the boys I never knew,” lamented Father Dick. “I, too, have been blessed with many years of happiness as a priest and do not wish anything but good health to your husband and our only remaining son. Robert Elliott is a fi
ne man and his parents have brought him up well. But, first, let us talk more about your husband.”
Françoise and Father Dick began a peaceful and lengthy conversation about their life experiences since Paris, and this served to calm them both.
At 1:30 p.m., a doctor appeared in the waiting room to inform Françoise that the operation and transplant were over and that everything appeared to have gone well. Ahmad would spend several days in recovery under strict observation for rejection symptoms that normally occur following transplants. Françoise asked to see him and the doctor indicated that she could only do so through a glass doorway as it was imperative that the recovery area remain virtually sterile.
Father Dick, in the meantime, was heading out the room on his way to the chapel on another floor when Françoise asked him to accompany her to the viewing area. He was pleased to do this and it felt comforting to both of them.
Through the glass windows, Ahmad was connected to an array of tubes and monitors, with a nurse seated in the room alongside him. Two of the surgeons were on call and only a phone call away should there be any complications that arose. Françoise touched the window gently, as if reaching to make contact with Ahmad, tears flowing down her cheeks. Father Dick led her away to a separate suite that had been prepared for her as she had indicated that she would not leave the hospital without Ahmad, one way or another.
Father Dick excused himself after insisting that she get some rest. He headed for the chapel following a stop for coffee in the hospital cafeteria. He had offered to return to her suite in a few hours and left the extension of the hospital chaplain where he could be reached. She was grateful at his kindness and it brought back memories of thirty-five years earlier when she first met him on that bus in Paris. So many years had passed and, yet, she felt as if she knew him well.
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